Promises
by recension
Summary: D/Gr. Post-DH *Epilogue compliant* Bit of more drama than romance, but we'll get there. Ginny Weasley was destined for so much more than she is. When life hasn't turned out how you've planned, do you stay and freeze or do you fly and burn?
1. Part I

If Ginny was honest with herself, her doubts had started not long after the war.

After the war, it was quite easy to sink into life with Harry. He had pushed her to finish school, he had pushed her to join the Harpies, and he had kept their relationship slow and reliable. Late at night he would whisper, "I will never let anything happen to you," against her ginger hair, hugging her gently in his arms. It was hard not to take comfort in that statement at the time. She was seventeen and so in love, truly in love, with the Boy Who Lived.

Harry preferred quiet nights, playing chess by candle light and exploring her body under the covers. For a long time she was content to share dinners surrounded by her brothers, and later, their own family. With Harry, their home was always warm and secure. Grimmauld Place scrubbed clean for a new generation and filled with Harry's promises.

All doubts Ginny had had of Harry not seeing _her_, the real her, were melted by his kisses and refrozen by those promises. _"I will never let anything happen to you."_ The love she found in him as a girl simply did not grow.

Before she could see the beginnings of the cracks, she was engaged. Bundled like raw nerves in her throat was the confession that became increasingly important to say.

.

.

Hermione was making tea, and chattering about her latest project at the MLE but Ginny was miles away. Or perhaps she was present for the first time in a long time. The raw nerves erupted and she choked on the words as they bubbled up.

"I'm not in love with Harry anymore." She was breathless, and her eyes flashed to Hermione to gauge a reaction but all she saw was tea being poured, and Hermione's expressionless backside shifting to reach for the sugar bowl, carrying the tea service over with great care.

"Don't be silly, of course you do," Hermione finally managed, smiling but not brightly. On more than one occasion, Hermione had mentioned how happy she was to have a sister. A built-in girlfriend, she'd described it, though Ginny never found their relationship worked like that. "You've just got cold feet. When Ron proposed I was a wreck over thinking things. It's only natural."

Ginny took the explanation as a possibility. She had put off the engagement as long as she could–not wanting Harry's surname attached to her own, not wanting the prying eyes of press in their lives. It had been years since Harry had his name in the papers for something other than genuine achievement and they both rather liked it that way.

In hindsight, Hermione's explanation just became further evidence that the dismissal of her feelings was always first and foremost to protect Harry, and in the most twisted way she had become an object in his life even to her own family. Her emotions were so discouraged that when she found herself married to Harry it just seemed the way things would go. James followed not long after, and then all thoughts of unhappiness were paused.

The matter was complicated. Ginny loved Harry intensely. He was a compassionate man, kind and patient. The exact sort of father she wanted for her children, and her children adored him properly.

James was followed by Albus who was followed by Lily and in many ways Ginny had never been happier than she was cooking her mother's recipes and teaching her children Quidditch. Listening to all the old war stories. An observer in the few years where her life had mattered, not just to others but to herself.

But Ginny, who had grown up with all the love in the world, found it difficult to match Harry in support or care. He tried so hard to give their children the life he never had. Unfortunately, it left Ginny to become the disciplinarian by default, the bad cop. Though she never mentioned it, she had always resented Harry for putting her in that position.

.

.

Her husband's arms wrapped around her as they watched Lily board the Hogwarts Express. Their youngest off on her first year of adventure. "Lily made me promise to come retrieve her if anyone is terribly mean."

"Typical," Ginny managed a smile, taking a deep breath as the train horn sounded. Lily was the clingiest of their children, and was completely and utterly her father's spoiled princess. The train began to pull out of King's Cross, and she and Harry waved in unison at all three of children until they faded from sight.

"I just told her what I always tell you," he said, kissing along Ginny's neck, breathing in the scent of deodorant and perfume as she continued to wave, "I will never let anything happen to you."

Something about the way he spoke the phrase made her ill. Something about the promise seemed immediately wrong. When she was seventeen nothing had sounded more right than to be held in someone's arms all through the night. Nothing sounded more right than the promise to be kept from harm, to be saved anytime something dark invaded her consciousness the way it had when she was young. It was more than a promise of happiness and it had meant more. With so many years having passed since the first time she had heard him utter it, the promise felt hollow and ragged.

_If you promise to never let anything happen to me, then nothing will ever happen to me._

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In the back of her mind, Ginny had always sensed there would be wild adventures with her and Harry. The early days of their life together–fighting evil and playing sport–felt like lifetimes ago. The most adventuresome thing they had done together in recent memory was a spontaneous shagging in the garden. It was so domestic that it pained her how common they were. The greatest wizard of his generation and his _wife_, getting their thrills from a shag in the garden. She had never thought this future would be hers.

She stopped letting Harry touch her soon after that. She was bored by his stories, by the way he chewed his food. It was hard not to see him as someone who had robbed her of her youth and her strength. Widening her hips and engorging her breasts with his children. Clawing onto her while they slept like she was a stuffed toy. She was suffocating in her own skin.

Harry tried to give her space as she pulled back. He claimed to understand what she was going through. He asked if she wanted him to have more hours at home. He asked if they wanted to have another child.

The sadness she had fought so hard to keep down began devouring her insides and she found herself craving solitude. She devoted herself to work, but she mostly used it as an excuse to get out of the house and to resign her childbearing. Harry, always maddeningly supportive, agreed it was for the best.

It seemed for a long while like she should accept her life as is. It seemed petty to want more out of life when she felt so grateful for many things. It seemed silly to think someone would notice her pain, or consider her feelings over her husband's.

Then again, life was full of silly things


	2. Part II

"Pott-_errrrrr!_"

Ginny felt a chill run down her spine at the call into the writer's bullpen. She was sitting at her desk struggling to end her latest piece when her editor stuck his head out of his office and gave the call a howler would curdle at.

Felix Skeeter was the over privileged son of his famous mother, two inches taller than her, 9 stones soaking wet, and way too much like Percy. He had risen to Lifestyles Editor in the time she had taken off to have Albus and it seemed he had made it his personal mission to make her life a living hell.

Felix had hinted, more than once, that he thought her writing sophomoric and her role as senior Quidditch correspondent was obviously awarded her because of her last name. In kindness for his tact in not mentioning his thoughts explicitly, she too refrained from telling him it was obvious his mother had secured him his job.

Still, she had to admit fighting with Felix was one part of her job she enjoyed. She so rarely fought, even with words.

"Whaaaat?" she drawled, swiveling in her chair to meet his eye line.

"What, _sir_," he insisted, as he always did.

"You're the one who called, sugar, and no need to call me 'sir'," she grinned cheekily.

Felix rolled his eyes and beckoned her with an outstretched hand, gesturing towards his office door before disappearing back inside.

Ginny took her time but girlishly leaned against her boss' door-jam as he flipped through papers behind his desk, "Well?"

"New assignment. Falmouth Falcons have a new owner. I'm thinking Sunday profile, front page of the section," Felix pushed his glasses to rest at his forehead, gauging her reaction.

Ginny didn't know what was so urgent or so special that it couldn't be handed to her in a memo like all her other assignments. Reluctantly she humored him with a raised eyebrow and a droll, "Is that all?"

"This man, he's important. Ad dollars... so don't fuck it up, Potter," Felix's tone was serious in a way she'd rarely heard it. "I set up a dinner for you two tomorrow night. A five star place. I want professional dress, and I want full receipts—not forged ones—and most importantly I want a draft on my desk by Friday. This is delicate, do you understand?"

"I'm not a child, Felix. I get it. You can trust me with this. It will be honest but slightly glowing, you'll hack it to shreds and we'll start again," she promised, giving a soft smile. "Why so delicate anyway? Who is this guy?"

"It's Draco Malfoy," Felix said quickly, knocking his spectacles back onto his nose, "I'll send you the address to the restaurant. Remember, Friday," he said, shooing her from the office with a flick of his backhand, the door closing on her, pushing her out of the way.

.

.

"You're a professional," Harry murmured, barely holding on to his mirth. He poured her a large glass of wine and kissed the top of her head. "I am certain he'll want to make a good impression with the woman with the almighty quill," He grinned, moving to tend to their supper. "And if conversation falls flat, just talk about the kids."

"Like he'll care about any progeny but his own," she huffed, playing with the rim of her glass. "It's not like I'm obligated to make conversation outside the reason that I'm there. I'll get in, ask my questions, and get out. I'll even order only a little salad and make sure I circle back for the check if I have to leave immediately. In case I feel a curse bubbling up in my throat from his general git-i-ness."

"That's my girl," Harry teased, sliding a hot plate down in front of her.

.

.

Ginny had a sense that Malfoy might pull mind games, particularly if he saw how easy it was to get a rise out of her. She decided that since she'd have to be such a good sport for the good of _The Prophet_ she should try to enjoy it. She arrived at the restaurant early, expecting Malfoy late, and ordered a glass of wine as soon as she was seated.

Felix had chosen his favorite spot in London, slightly trendy but too upscale to be hip. It was stuffy in a way that reminded Ginny of Draco Malfoy and she wondered if it was the sort of place he frequented with his wife.

A night out with Harry usually involved a pop into Hogsmeade for Rosie's mead and a good pub meal. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in a restaurant with cloth napkins or even put on her best suit. It had been slightly snug across her waist but a quick transfiguration spell had fixed that.

Just as her glass arrived at the table she heard, "White wine. How dull are you?"

Ginny didn't even have to turn to see who the offender was. She simply lowered her glass and stood at her seat, offering her hand, "Mister Malfoy, a pleasure."

"Weaslette," he smirked, taking her hand in a gentle shake. "Since you've started to drink without me I think I deserve the dig," he explained, catching a nearby waiter and ordering their two fingers of their finest scotch with one ice cube before settling in across the table, "Mrs. Potter," he said with a slight head nod in a somewhat apology for the name.

The last time she had seen him in Diagon Alley years ago, she remembered him differently. He had looked tired, looked older. Perhaps her perspective had changed or maybe he was using more cosmetic charms, getting more vain. _As if it was possible_, she mused. Either way, his hair was more white than blond but somehow it suited him. He looked distinguished, with his pointed chin and pointed nose and startling silver eyes. He was head to toe in black, though that never changed, with a crisp suit in a flattering cut.

"Do you mind if we get down to it? I had planned to get down to the stadium before practice ends. New investment, and all of that," Draco straightened each cuff before reclining slightly in his chair, picking up his menu.

"No problem with me," Ginny said, actually relieved to hear it. She flipped open her notepad and set a quick quotes quill to wait patiently. "After we order, we'll be right to business."

Draco snapped his fingers to call a waiter and ordered the nicest steak on the menu, specifying the removal of all starches and thanking the man for his scotch. Demanding and polite, she made note of his behavior in her book. She ordered the small house salad and thanked the waiter before letting her eyes settle on Draco, really taking him in.

His movements were feline, conservative. He never moved more than he needed to. When his scotch was placed on the table he reached for it and held it, sipped it and returned it to its place with precise movement. _Like a python striking,_ Ginny thought to herself.

"I suppose I should start with my congratulations. It isn't everyday that a man your age has the means or opportunity to purchase an international team so revered as the Falcons."

Draco could sense in the way she rolled the words around her mouth and the way they spilled from her pink lips that Ginny Weasley was definitely not getting enough sex. He highly doubted she was as competent of a journalist as to put away their family history and there was certainly no way the Weasley-cum-Potter had respect for him which lead him to one conclusion: she was flirting with him. Conscious or not, he was certain it was the case.

"Yes, well, I've always admired the team. Fan since I was a boy. It was an easy decision to make."

"Tell me, Mister Malfoy, is it the team colors or the team motto with which you identify more?" Ginny sipped her wine, amused at the thought of maybe getting the best of Draco in conversation.

"_Permissum nos lucror, sive nos cannae lucror, permissum nos effrego pauci caput capitis_," Draco murmured in Latin, "Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads," he translated.

"It's a lovely phrase. But alas, as much as that would make a lovely pull-quote for you it is the team legacy and its assets that drove the sale. I am a fan of winning, and the Falcons have ambition that I admire," Draco admitted, crossing his legs as he reclined further into his seat.

"Tell me about your corporate pedigree. Why leave your career in business to join the Quidditch world?"

Draco seemed to be prepared for this question and took a deep breath before starting to speak. "After the war my family was disgraced. Not many people know what it is like to be cast out of the world you knew and the world that is left. I began my career specializing in the restoration and trade of antique magical items. I studied with Arthur Burkes himself, and took over Borgin and Burkes at the age of twenty-two. We bought out Dervish Banges in Hogsmeade five years later when I inherited my father's estate. Dervish, Banges, Borgin & Burkes is now on 5 continents and is the premiere distributor and restorer of magical items."

"Why not Malfoy?" Ginny interrupted him at a breath and Draco seemed startled. Slightly.

"Pardon?"

"Why not add your name in there? I've always been curious. It's odd to think you would humbly resist restoring some honor to your family name," Ginny watched the way a micro-expression flickered across his brow at the word 'honor.' If he thought he was hiding anything he was terribly wrong.

"I'll only answer that off the record," he diplomatically answered, waiting until the scribbling quill was in Ginny's hand before opening his mouth to speak.

It was an answer he normally wouldn't divulge but he didn't give a second thought to what was loosening his tongue now. He didn't think of how easy she was to talk to, or how beautiful her eyes were lit up in curiosity.

"I wanted to rename the whole thing Malfoy & Burkes but I was advised against it by my lawyers," Draco admitted. "That's the real reason, the one I keep quiet. Bad for business, the Malfoy name, at least splattered across a shop window. Especially after my father..."

_...killed himself_.

Ginny watched as he picked up his scotch and finished the rest in one gulp. She hadn't expected to feel pity for him but was surprised to feel something more akin to understanding.

She waved a hand at their waiter from across the room and lifted Draco's empty glass in request, setting it back down as she cleared her throat. "Back on the record then?" She asked, softly.

The rest of the interview went smoothly, possibly suspiciously smoothly. Draco remembered in his third scotch that this was the woman who had brought more Potters into the world and somehow he didn't hate her for it. He found it charming the way she was quick to smile, the way she sipped her wine and the way she didn't feel self conscious about ordering dessert.

Ginny never once thought of Lucius with the exception of the moment he was brought up in conversation.

It was when he switched to coffee that she had last brought up his personal life. His separation from Astoria and bringing up Scorpius. When he admitted that the separation was full blown and he'd be divorced by year's end, Ginny made the note that it was off record even if it had never been said. Draco was tempted to ask about Harry but somehow knew it was off limits. It wasn't as though she was eager to bring up the subject either. She never even mentioned her children.

When it seemed the meal could be stalled no longer, Ginny asked for the check and thanked Draco for the interview. She glanced at her wristwatch and assured him he would make the end of practice if he needed to leave.

"Why don't you join me?" He offered, rolling his eyes slightly as one of her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, "It might make an interesting lead for the piece," he suggested, "I just bought some new brooms. I'm eager to give one a shot myself."

"Alright'" she reluctantly agreed, "but I've sworn off flying on anything faster than a Firebolt," she let him know, "So if this is a plan to have me race against the young ones, you'd better have a closet full of antiques."

"A Firebolt? That's criminal. You would think the Boy Who Lived could afford to buy the mother of his children a broom that is still in production," Draco teased, cracking a smile.

Ginny was so taken aback by a flash of authenticity from her subject (and how much more handsome it made Draco to look happy rather than smug) that she agreed to take a lap on one of the team's new Whiskwhips without realizing it. At the very least she considered it a way to educate herself on the safety of the broom—James had been asking for one for going on six months now. Draco lead the way to the nearest deserted alley.

"I'll have to be out of the stadium by eleven," she laid more terms on the engagement, reaching for his wrist to Apparate along with him. He froze but moved her hand to his other wrist. Ginny realized she must have squeezed on the mark now burned into his skin never to be removed.

"You will be. I promise," he said, producing his wand and with a crack, they were off.


	3. Part III

Draco's lips lit hers on fire. Tongue against tongue, Ginny had never been so lost. His arms were around her, one hand on her ass, squeezing, hanging on for dear life, and the other buried in her hair, keeping her head in position as his lips trailed down hers, down her throat, sucking and licking at her pulse point. Her blood was racing, throttling to the surface of her skin and she could feel the pulse of it in her temples.

His teeth sank in to the skin on her shoulder as he tugged slightly on her hair, devouring her most willingly. Her fingers found purchase in his shirt, tugging at buttons in a desperate attempt to free the body underneath. His hands made quick work of her skirt and she felt it pool at her feet as her hands fell to his chest. It was smooth, strong, still thin unlike Harry's: soft, sagging muscle and small pockets of fat. He broke contact with her neck to allow her more room to work, panting with contained enthusiasm as she unfastened his belt and the button of his trousers. Her hand reached into his trousers easily, seeking his cock. He was hard, already, fully hard, not in need of dirty talk or her mouth or fifteen minutes playing with her breasts the way Harry sometimes was. _Hard. Now. For me._

"You sure?" he whispered, pressing his nose against her temple as if he could smell the blood underneath the surface.

Ginny didn't even think before answering, "Yes," she murmured, rewarded with his soft warm lips on hers again. Both his hands fell to her waist, and then her behind, lifting her easily onto the room's desk. She gasped at the new position and how quickly he spread her thighs and his fingers tucked aside her panties. He took no more hesitation, plunging inside of her, his face against hers. Draco's tongue rolled over her lower lip as she caught her breath, his hands guided her thighs to lock around him as she adjusted to the feel. When she nodded, his lips descended again and his hips began to thrust.

.

.

Harry's glasses were askew when he emerged from the sheets, grinning, "Good?" he asked, breathless and proud.

Ginny nodded, giving a giggle as Harry's lips were on her, tart from the taste of her, his tongue eagerly taking control while he pulled her further up on the bed. She could feel his erection between them, his boxers barely containing the strain while he ground his hips down against her bare sex, his arms pinning her back while he kissed his way down to her breasts.

"Harry?" she asked, taking a deep breath for courage.

He looked up, concerned he'd done something wrong and let her pluck his glasses from his face and place them on the nightstand beside the bed. She squeezed her knees around his waist and sat up slowly to cup his face, bringing him into a gentle kiss. "Why don't you take your boxers off," she whispered against his lips.

Harry's grin could light the sun while he pressed his lips against hers once more. It was the first time she'd made such a request and it was unlikely he'd ever forget it. "Really? You sure?" he whispered but barely waited for her nod before he bounced back onto his heels and tugged the boxers down and off his legs before settling between her thighs again, his thumb dragging through her folds and pressing in against her clit as he pressed the tip of his cock against her lips.

"Ready?" he asked, plunging his hips forward at her okay.

.

.

Draco held her firm as she began to shake, one hand around her back and the other pressing in at her stomach, controlling the angle of her waist. She finally let him have his way and laid back further, gasping as the tip of his cock nudged something inside of her, something that made her stomach to drop, made her toes numb, made every orifice tighten up as a heady groan spilled from her mouth.

It didn't take long before she was sweating, gripping at the desk beneath her for purchase as he increased the pace of his thrusts.

"Draco, I'm—" she whimpered in a sharp cry and he flashed a grin at her.

"I know," he murmured, letting his eyes catch hers. He didn't look away as he pressed forward once more before his thumb stretched to rub over her clit, small light circles like how she touched herself. She rocked her hips off the desk unconsciously, and his hands stilled all motion to let her body tighten and spasm.

She had never orgasmed like this before.

When she touched herself, and if she was in the right mood with Harry, it was quite easy to get to a crest, to feel warm and tingling and to fall apart and feel relaxed but this was something else entirely.

Draco ran his hands over her skin as she came down, stroking pale freckled flesh on her thighs and waist, kissing the center of her chest as she finally came down. He helped her sit up again, finding a balance at the edge of the desk and wrapped his arms around her, letting her cling to him in gratitude or something like it. Slowly, his hips began to move again, his knees bent and his toes pressing his body up against hers, keeping their torsos touching.

His face was milimeters away but his eyes–silver and bright–were staring directly into hers. Unwavering. She tightened her inner muscles against his cock, grinning at the result of his panted sigh and a murmur of, "Minx."

He thrust harder in retaliation, shutting his eyes finally as he let his nose press against hers, breathing in the same breath as she. "I'm about to—"

"—Come," she supplied, and ordered, and permitted with one breathy word, gasping as he pulled his hips out nearly completely before penetrating her wet sex once more, spilling inside of her.

They sat there for what felt like hours to Ginny. Catching their breath, bodies still entwined. Embers from an extinguished flame.

When her watch alarm chirped out, she shook herself from stupor. "It's nearly eleven," she whispered and Draco nodded, taking care as he slid from inside of her, dressing quickly as if he was suddenly hit with a loss of her warmth. He took care in picking up and dusting off her skirt, handing it to her but helping her fasten the garment when she had stepped into it. She was surprised at how tender and intimate it felt to have his fingers on the zipper at her waist in spite of the deed they'd just done.

"So I'm guessing this never happened," he murmured, running his lips across her neck and it took every ounce of strength she had not to shove him away.

"Of course not," Ginny said, surprised at how little will she had to agree.

Draco nodded curtly. "It's for the best. Off the record," he said softly, wetting his lips quickly before he pulled her close and steered her into a controlling kiss.

Ginny recoiled from the kiss somewhat forcibly and gathered her notebook, running her fingers through her hair before Disapparating.

.

.

Draco willed his heartbeat to slow when she was gone, tidying his new office as a distraction. Looking out on the now-empty pitch, he poured himself a glass of Ogden's Old and eventually found at least a little amusement in the situation.

He hadn't predicted things would go the way they had. Things had remained professional for most of the night. A few moments at dinner had lingered, including the signing of the check, but it was nothing inappropriate. At the pitch she had met the coaches, said hello to the team running drills and had mostly stayed out of the way to observe. She asked him a few last questions about his opinion on the team's chances in the upcoming season and then he had asked for a pair of Whiskwhips to be brought out from the store room.

He remembered finding it endearing how she tried to refuse the flight, how her hair shone brilliantly under the lights.

"What are you afraid of?" he mused, observing her as she considered an exit strategy. She insisted he look away as she mounted the broom, pulling her suit skirt up past her knees as she mounted but took off quickly and he kicked off to follow her. She was a fast flyer, and he wondered why she had wasted her time on an all-female squad like the Harpies. Then again, he also didn't know why she'd wasted her career by retiring early to have children.

Something about her seemed lighter in the air. Carefree. When she hovered in the air near a goal post, he pulled alongside her and looked over, "Thoughts?"

She nodded vaguely but didn't speak for a long moment, her mind elsewhere as she looked down at the pitch and up at the stadium lights.

"Do you miss it?" he finally asked, rewarded by her gaze.

"Every day," she said honestly, firm but quiet, as if it was something she was admitting to herself just now.

"I know it's not my place to say," Draco cautiously began, knowing she could reach him easily in the distance they were apart and he was pretty sure she had her wand on her person which greatly decreased his chances of escaping her temper, "But you look happy. And it looks like that's a rare thing for you."

"It isn't your place to say," Ginny frowned, flying quickly to the ground, dropping the broom as she headed for a stadium exit.

Draco was quick to follow, staying a few paces behind her as she turned down a corridor towards the administrative offices instead of towards a safe Apparation point.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he called after her, jogging to shorten the distance between them. "Maybe I just see unhappiness reflected in everyone else."

Ginny turned sharply on her heel and gave him a stare that struck fear in his heart the way only Narcissa Malfoy had been able to do before now.

"Who do you think you are? My life, my happiness is none of your business. You are a subject of a story, that is all," she grit through her teeth, taking a step backwards now that movement had ceased, "Less than if you consider what a coward you are. I should print that news about your divorce, you know."

"Good. You should. It's the truth and frankly I'd rather it come out in _The Prophet_ than anywhere else," Draco said honestly, shoving both hands in his trouser pockets; he seemed glad that she was calming down. "And I'd wager to bet I'm no more a coward than you."

"How am I a coward?" she frowned.

"How am I?" Draco shook his head, "For someone who fought against prejudice you are certainly unwillingly to accept that people have changed, Ginny Weasley."

"—Potter," she corrected quickly.

"Potter," he allowed taking a step closer to her, "My apologies. I still claim you are a coward."

"How?" she scoffed, "I am not the one who fell back on the need for money and power."

"No, but you fell back on the need for ordinariness and family. You were a gifted witch. A fast enough draw to get the best of me once or twice and as I remember: a pretty decent Chaser. Now what are you?"

Ginny was clearly angry, her heartbeat had picked up and her cheeks were flush, her eyes alight with indignation.

"You may be fooling everyone else, Gin-e-vra," he drawled, letting his voice bounce on the syllables of her full name as he closed the distance between them, "But you can't bullshit a bullshitter," he murmured, mere inches away from her face now. "Ginny Potter, sinking in her own unhappiness. And Harry Potter, the Boy Who Saved Us All, letting her drown."

"Fuck you," she spat at him, more out of reflex than anger. Still, she didn't move away. Draco took that as an invitation and pressed his lips against hers. Pouted and pink, turned hot and needy. He pulled her into his office and the rest of the night, frantic and scorching, had just evolved.

.

.

Picking up the pieces of his shattered self, Draco felt as if a tornado had ripped through his system. It had been a long time since someone had gotten a rise out of him the way Weasley had. Then again it had been a long time since he'd had company he hadn't paid for in one way or another.

Draco was upset to find himself jealous, jealous of Potter. Ginny Weasley was, in no way, an appropriate match for the Malfoy name but that was part of the appeal. She had pure fire in her veins and she was belittling herself playing wife. She reminded him of Mother and of Astoria, a brilliant witch but always a shell to the name she carried, who also couldn't run away from him fast enough.

.

.

Lucius let his hand grasp the back of Draco's neck firmly as he pressed his forehead against his son's. Draco was petrified, properly frightened, for only the third time in his entire life. Mother was packing valuables, running around like the Manor was someplace she'd never been, completely lost. Lucius had resigned himself to the idea that most items would have to be left. He would trust in his protection wards and hope for the best.

Draco wondered idly about his own things, about what could be packed and how much danger they were really in. It had only been hours ago that he was attempting to kill Harry Potter and everyone who stood by him. It had been half-hearted, but there was nothing like the threat of death to light a fire under someone.

It was the same reason his mother could be heard shouting about her jewelry in the East Wing. It was the same reason his father held him clasped so close, whispering orders–instructions–his last will.

When they left Malfoy Manor a few minutes later, Draco managed to look back at the house he'd grown up in, his father's list of demands swimming in his head. "I should have put a stop to this," he overheard his mother whisper, stern and full of disappointment.

"Over you and I they'll punish Draco most severely," she hissed at her husband.

"Punish, yes, but if we are not the only ones to survive I am certain I won't live until dawn," his father snarled, at least attempting to keep quiet as they hashed out a conversation Draco wished he wasn't privy to.

"We all know what a pity that loss would be," Narcissa's biting tongue stinging as deep as her gaze. She reached out for Draco's hand and he felt small again, childlike in desperation as he clasped it. When their hands met, she pulled him along in Disapparation.

Draco didn't see his father until weeks later, when they returned to the Manor and began the trials. He never again saw his parents in the same room as one another alive or dead. Narcissa had forgone her husband's funeral; she had sent a polyjuice double in her stead.

.

.

Once at home, Draco took his time tugging clothing from his sore body in preparation for a bath. It was well past midnight but his mind was still racing. The look on her face, the gratitude of her orgasm, would hold a special place in his memories.

_It never happened_, he tried reminding himself, _the definition of a one off_, but nothing could cease his thoughts.

Draco was a man set in his ways. A lifetime of indulgence had only made him secure in his stubbornness. The rockiness of his adolescence had only set a foundation for the man he would become. The ideals he held dear: strength, reputation, quick-witted-ness, and power were ingrained since birth. They had just come to mean different things after the war. After his father.

He had made wrong decisions in his attempts to find solid ground as an adult; his marriage was one of them. It had been such a confusing time to be one of the remaining. The number of the dead, of the dying, and of the fled was mystifying. Draco was the first and only fully exonerated Death Eater to return to society and it had not been easy but marriage was political.

Astoria had been young, and beautiful but more importantly the Greengrasses had kept their noses clean. Astoria's father had died years before the war and there were only girls in the legacy. It was an easy match to maneuver.

Astoria had a way of making Draco feel light. She had been only seventeen when they married, and her view of love was simple. Easy. But as they grew older and more comfortable, as Draco leaned on her more, after his father's suicide and Scorpius' birth, Astoria began to pull away. When they had married, she had been full of energy and affection. It had taken years to get used to, but by the time he realized how much he loved her, it was too late.

They spent years in decline, fighting over money, over Scorpius, over Mother. Every day a new argument, sometimes with threats and thrown objects, sometimes with hexes.

He fought her happiness in favor of his own, and in the end it nearly cost her life.

.

.

Ginny stood in front of Grimmauld Place as it pulled from the surrounding walls. The night was chilly, and it was late. The street was quiet, most light's turned out.

She looked at the door and the stoop of her family home and took a long deep breath before climbing the steps. She didn't know how to open the door and face Harry. She didn't know why she felt such a strong urge to divulge everything in him, to get it off her chest and be done with it. He said he'd understood, but there was no way he would understand this.

She didn't even understand it.

It was more suspicious to flee, she reasoned, and focused on getting in the door. When Harry left for work in the morning, she'd figure it out then. She just had to get in to a shower and crawl in to bed. Simple steps. She slid her key in the door and pushed it open, surprised to hear her name called out by multiple voices.

The foyer was dark, but there was warm light coming in from the sitting room.

She shut the door and cleared her throat, "Have we got company?"

Harry responded with a happy, "Ron and Hermione came by for dinner! Come join us!"

Ginny was relieved that Harry was distracted for the moment, remaining in the dark of the hallway not three steps in the house, "I'm pretty exhausted, I think I'll just take a shower and head to bed, is that all right?"

She could hear the smile on Harry's lips, "Sure, of course. We'll try to keep it down. Hey- how did your interview go?"

"Yeah, how was the-" Ron started in, but Hermione's whispered discouragement had him finish the statement with, "-fine fellow?"

Ginny could hear how hollow her own fake laugh was but she was proud she managed one, "It went fine, no big deal. Night you three," she called out before heading quickly up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Switching on the light and turning the taps, Ginny began to strip her suit from her body, burying her soiled underwear at the bottom of the hamper and healing the more obvious bite marks on her skin.

Reflected over her shoulder in the mirror as she healed signs of her affair, she had never more detested the glowering tackiness of the photos on the bathroom wall; her smiling and giggling children in their respective first baths were mocking her and the guilt they brought on was both sudden, and crippling.

Sliding under the spray of her warm shower, Ginny took comfort in the fact that at least it had been Draco Malfoy. She could think of no one less willing to admit the affair. Scrubbing her body under the warm spray, she wondered if she would ever feel clean again.

.

.

"I don't want to lose you," Draco admitted, uncharacteristically tender as he crouched at her feet, so very much wanting to take her hand but knowing it was best not to touch her.

"You're losing me either way," Astoria whispered, hushed. Draco would never forget how beautiful she looked in that moment. Porcelain skin with rosy cheeks. Bright blue eyes. The darkest, softest hair. Her silver satin nightdress bunched around her body as she tucked her legs to her side, perched in a garden chair with a vial of the brightest green potion in her hand.

"Think of your son," she murmured. "He is watching me die, Draco. Here in the gardens or falsifying cheerfulness at your side. Which do you think is best?"

Draco felt the tears come before he could stop them. Glimmering in the moonlight, she had never looked so beautiful to him, and yet she was telling him he was the reason she could no longer find the will to live. He had no choice.

"Don't you think you're being selfish?" he brushed at his tears, angry at the stalemate, angry at his own emotion. He stood to his full height, hovering above her until she removed her thumb from the top of the unstoppered bottle. The fear that she might raise the glass to her lips calmed him, made his gaze soften towards her again.

"Don't you think you're being selfish asking me to stay?" she whispered, her voice clear in the night air.

Draco fled the Manor for the second time in his life, letting Astoria gather her things and move to her own apartment. They decided it was best for Scorpius to remain married, but live separate lives. Once he was old enough, two years later, the divorce was nearly settled.

.

.

Draco looked out on the gardens as he perched on the balcony of the master suite, looking over the meticulous gardens of the Manor, two stories above the terrace where his ex-wife had threatened her life. He let the smoke of his cigar fill his lungs and exhaled into the cool night air.

It was as if nothing, and everything, had changed.


	4. Part IV

Ginny sat at her typewriter for most of the day that followed. She hadn't slept very well, and Harry's presence next to her was distracting.

Everyone had small indiscretions, she told herself. It wasn't worth losing her cool over. Ginny was practiced in lying to herself, though, and her ease with the situation should have been a warning sign.

An indiscretion; a one night stand. She'd never had one, she'd never been anything less than faithful in her home life, and she'd never had anyone but Harry, but Ginny knew people everywhere must make these sorts of mistakes all the time. It hardly seemed worthy of upsetting Harry to dissect the night. Once that was decided, any thought of potentially calling off her marriage, or uprooting her three otherwise happy children dissolved.

Still, sitting at her typewriter with her notes of the evening open beside her, Ginny was finding it hard to concentrate.

Despite the impending deadline, she couldn't manage plugging in more than three words before her train of thought ran off. She suddenly felt more aware of her body. Her skin was soft, sensitive. When was the last time she was conscious of her toes? When had she last felt the stimulation of her scalp? She ran her fingertips over her lips as she remembered his kiss and could feel her body warm, pressing her thighs together as warning from her rational brain to the irrational. _Let it be a memory, Ginny._

_Let it be._

She pushed away from her desk and wandered around the empty house for a few moments, aimless. Her bare feet on the floor felt restless but melodic as she paced.

.

.

Draco woke in the morning feeling unsatisfied with his sleep. For some reason, the bed he'd just gotten used to occupying without Astoria felt large and empty again, the whole Manor seemed to echo with emptiness. The floor felt chilled, his body felt sore.

Ginny had been the first woman he'd slept with after the divorce. The celibacy streak hadn't been intended, though he supposed there was some psychological argument to be made about a lack of confidence and desire, one that seemed to fault when it came to the lady in question. It wasn't as though the tryst of the night before filled him with a positive feeling. If anything, he felt guilty for taking advantage of an unhappily married woman, no matter how right it had felt at the time.

A scalding hot shower and a quick dressing had Draco feeling a little bit more like himself, at least willing to fake it though the day. By the time he descended the grand staircase of Malfoy Manor, his facade had been restored and all thoughts of Ginny Weasley were shelved. As he brewed a cup of espresso and flicked open _The Daily Prophet_, he heard the mail arrive in his study across the hall. His owl, Rigel, normally well mannered and without need of doting attention seemed to be squawking murder from his perch in the study.

Draco quickly abandoned his brewing coffee and crossed the foyer to tend to the bird, noticing immediately that the shouts were out of pain. The owl was in great distress, flapping wildly as a letter it had been carrying refused to drop out of its talons. It appeared the note was sealed with twine that was also tied roughly around the leg of the bird. Draco quickly used a charm to untie the twine, Rigel taking off through the window again in immediate recoil.

The note that remained on the floor of the study, tied with the severed twine was scarlet red, stamped in silver with the word "URGENT." Draco summoned the letter, recognizing the envelope make, and slid his finger across the seal, pulling open the note. His eyes scanned the note twice before he Disapparated from the spot.

.

.

Ginny had never felt so sick in her entire life. Harry had made her promise not to get out of bed, but the stuffy air of the house was sticking to her skin. Five months pregnant with her first child, the pregnancy had gone without incident until a few days prior; Ginny had woken to sharp pains across her abdomen, shooting down to her toes. It crippled her with pain so intense that she could barely move her legs. For a few short moments she wondered if she was going to die.

Harry was concerned, reasonably, until they noticed blood between her legs. Fearing the worst, they rushed to the hospital, and though the baby was apparently fine, Ginny was soon ordered to a strict regiment of potions and bed rest. Having never spent a day in her adulthood laid-up in a bed for anything other than recreation, she was besides herself with boredom. Worse yet, Ginny found all the medications and rest didn't make her feel any better.

Three months before the bed rest order she had been flying professionally, hopping off to a stadium or a party every night of the week. For the first time in her life, Ginny Weasley felt glamorous and the attention had done her well. When she figured out she was pregnant, she had kept the news a secret from Harry for an embarrassingly long time, even dangerously playing in matches while carrying her first child. She hadn't wanted the ride to come to a halt.

On bedrest she had too much time to herself to daydream. While Harry went to work, Ginny wondered what life would be like if she had decided not to have the baby. James, they'd already named him long before his conception. Or worse yet, what if James had robbed her of her legs that night they'd almost lost him? He had already grounded her for the foreseeable future. He was already keeping her indoors.

Sticking her head out of the bedroom window, feeling breeze on her face, even just for a moment helped her more than any medicine.

Her husband loved her home when he got there. He loved the thought of her laying in bed in her nightgown all day waiting for him. He loved her stomach. The first nights after they returned from the hospital were cool, and all the windows were open in the house at Ginny's request while she tried to let her pain pass. His hand stroked over her back, and her stomach, spooning against her as she tried to get comfortable.

"We can go back to the hospital if you want," he whispered, concerned for her continued grimace and the seemingly persistent pain.

"No, no," Ginny shook her head as she exhaled slowly. The truth was it hurt too much to move, she'd rather stay where she was. The pain was always worse at night, but she could endure it.

"What does it feel like?" he asked, part curious, part playing healer and determined to figure out a solution for her ailments.

Ginny was annoyed that he was insistent about a conversation, but as always his motives were in goodness; it was hard to push that away. The only analogy she could come up with wasn't going to please him though, and she struggled for a different way to begin.

"It's sharp, stinging... it's," she exhaled again, and drew in a quick breath, squeezing his hand on her stomach as a pang hit her. "It's like I feel him inside of me and my body is resisting it," she said reluctantly, "Like it wants him out already. I've only felt pain like it once before."

She could hear Harry breathing deepen behind her as he mulled over what she was saying. "Ginny," he said softly, barely a whisper. She was struck by how cautious he sounded, as if he knew for once what she was going to say and he was warning her not to say it.

"Do you ever feel like sometimes _He's_ still a part of you?" She whimpered, squeezing his hand again. "Like you can still hear Him in your head?"

"No," Harry murmured, hugging her tight, "I don't."

Ginny felt ashamed for bringing Tom up. They spoke of him as little as possible, less as the time after the war came to match their time before it, but Ginny still thought of Tom more than she wanted to admit. More than once she had caught a glimpse of Harry and only seen Tom Riddle. Her true first love. The one she never spoke about. It was easier to let Harry believe he saved her, and that her memory from all that time was gone. It was a secret she never wanted him to discover. Harry had consumed evil from Tom, and shunned it; Ginny felt she had absorbed power, and it lay dormant.

"Do you?" He whispered, still concerned, his nose pressing against her the birth mark on her shoulder. She could tell he had his eyebrows stitched together, slightly angled at the center in that look of empathy that made her feel ridiculous. She could tell just by the tone of his voice.

"Not anymore," she lied. "But I remember it. It kind of feels like that, but in my stomach instead of in my head."

"I'm so sorry, Ginny," he exhaled against her neck. "So so sorry. The healers say it will pass though. You know I'm here with you every step of this."

"I know," Ginny sighed, shutting her eyes tight. She didn't bother telling Harry that that was part of the problem. He expelled a held breath on the back of her neck; it made her skin crawl.

.

.

Ginny left the house for a break from her writer's block in the early afternoon, strolling down to their corner shop for a cup of tea and a pack of cigarettes. She tapped the packet against her palm, pulling off the wrapping and taking out two cigarettes. She slid one between her lips and tucked one behind her ear, handing the rest of the pack to the man behind her in line. She had briefly taken up smoking between James and Albus' births but kept it a completely private vice. One of her secrets. From time to time she missed it with unbearable ache and she'd do the exact same thing she did that day: buy a pack and pass on the majority of it to keep the addiction in check.

London could be lovely in the late autumn. Ginny enjoyed their neighborhood, the lively color of the muggle establishments and the frequency of parks. It was easy to walk around and clear one's head within the space of a few blocks, but Ginny found herself at least a mile away from Grimmauld before she realized. At the end of her second cigarette and the end of her cup of tea, she was still completely at a loss on how to write about Draco Malfoy and how to continue avoiding the subject with Harry.

It was too late to owl her editor and complain about the interview, and she needed to have a draft completed by the morning.

She dawdled on her way back home, making a giant circle in the city maze, finding herself strolling down the high street next to dressed up shop windows filled with mannequins and beautiful clothes. Despite her firm intention to never ever under any circumstances let what happened the night before happen again, Ginny found herself unable to resist staring at an emerald green dress glimmering in a shop window for no other reason than a momentary whim of how Slytherin it was. How Malfoy.

Harry quite proudly told each of their children of how the Hogwarts sorting hat had let him choose Gryffindor when he first entered the school. He had begged to be placed in the house he thought to be most noble.

Ginny had only mentioned to one person that she too had been given a choice between those two houses. She had only chosen Gryffindor because she knew she'd never hear the end of it from her family. Only Tom Riddle knew how close she had come to being a Slytherin herself.

When she sat back down at her typewriter, Ginny cracked her fingers and slid them to the keys. With stubborn determination, she forced herself to begin to type. By the time Harry came home she had finished the piece and had begun cooking dinner, the cigarettes, the green dress, and Draco long forgotten.

.

.

Draco looked down at the sketched map an assistant had provided him with. The deal he was about to make was worth disrupting his breakfast and his entire day over. The man currently boasting about the goods Draco was trying to purchase was only continuing to talk in an attempt to drive up the price. If only the man knew how weak he seemed in Draco's eyes, he would have shut up nearly the moment he entered the room.

"Let's see it then," Draco requested, folding up the sketched map and sliding it into his own pocket, standing as the dealer opened up his parcel, soft cotton opening itself to a jagged portion of a broken mirror, about the size and shape of a goblin's head.

"It's genuine, if that's what you're wondering," the man was quick to supply, wiping sweat from his brow as he was starting to get intimidated by Malfoy's reserve and silence. "Last piece on the open market."

"I'm well aware of both of those facts," Draco said coolly, "Unfortunately the piece is useless without the others. Three have disappeared from record. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?"

The man shook his head, "I could try my hardest to find out though. Place a few galleons in a few empty pockets," he supplied, seemingly eager to please. "As soon as I'm paid, of course."

"Of course. Well, do keep your ears perked," Draco reached for the mirror piece, picking it up with careful hands. "Pay the man," he directed his assistant.

When he had retreated to his office, Draco unwrapped the piece again, sliding it like a puzzle piece into the spot where it belonged. The three pieces off of record were three of the four corners, already collected long ago. The piece purchased that day was the last. For the first time in over a decade the pieces of the mirror had been assembled in one room and Draco was the one to accomplish it. With great care, he slid the pieces closer together before stepping back again, aiming his wand at the table. With an indulgent flick of his wand and a clear charm, the pieces cinched together into one solid piece of glass with a satisfying crunch.

.

.

"I don't hate it," Felix spoke, pushing the marked up draft across his desk towards Ginny, "It's just so boring."

Ginny couldn't think of a place she longed to be less than this office on this day talking about this piece.

"Blah blah, Draco Malfoy's business, blah blah, reformed Death Eater, blah blah blah, team poised to have a good season," Felix shut his eyes as he tried to formulate his thoughts. "You've got these two 'road of redemption' story-lines, right? They just don't parallel enough. Maybe that's it. Chuck in more team history. Really make the echo the point of the piece. Ditch the bit about his marriage—this isn't a society piece—pad the business angle."

Ginny made shorthand notes on the corner of her piece, not bothering to talk back to Felix on the matter, giving a brief nod, "I should have a new draft for you in an hour?"

"Perfect. Go. Scribble like the wind," Felix shooed her out the door.

She settled at her desk in the bullpen and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, dictating to her typewriter as the keys clicked along. She reached the note about Draco's marriage and lost her train of thought for a moment. She wondered if Draco had cheated, if Astoria had had enough of him fucking redheads on the desk of his office. _Enough, Gin._

She rubbed her temple and pushed the thought from her mind before completing the draft, handing in the sheet and heading out to lunch to clear her head. Maybe to grab some cigarettes.

When Ginny returned from her lunch, she found a note taped to her typewriter—firm cardstock with the most infuriatingly neat and elegant script she'd ever read.

"Something to show you. My office, DBB&B, Diagon. —DM"

Ginny chewed thoughtfully on her lip debating whether or not this was worth seeing through when Felix shouted from his office, "Potter, Yeats, Hornby, Murray! You are free to go! The rest of you, line up outside my office for second round reviews!" She took the mercy as a sign, grabbed the note, and headed to Diagon Alley.

.

.

Draco's fingertips slid along the skin of her back and Ginny gave a resigned sigh. The second the breath escaped her lips, his fingertips dug into her hips and he held her firmer, controlling her movements, restricting her. He stilled her pelvis completely and let her hands fall to his chest, let her get frustrated.

"Let me... fucking... move," she whimpered, her nails digging in to his skin in punishment but he shook his head, sitting up, resettling her weight, shifting inside of her.

"Never ever ever make that sound with me again," he tucked hair behind her ear, his hands sloping over her shoulders to the center of her upper back, keeping her close. "That resigned little wounded animal noise. I never want to hear it from you. If I'm lacking in some department you need to alert me to that fact. I won't take offense."

"—I won't take _much_ offense," he corrected himself, pausing to let his thumbs gently run over the skin of her back. "I'd rather an ego blow than hear you give unhappy little sighs for whatever reason, understand?"

Ginny pressed her hips forward, tilting the angle of Draco's desk chair back slightly, causing the both of them to tip, Draco's hands holding onto her firmly as she raised her hips and lowered them again, bringing her arms up to grip the back of the chair, attempting to keep them steady, "Let me fucking move and I won't have to make the noise," she purred against his lips, never quite kissing them, just letting hers teasingly hover over his flesh. "I promise," she whispered, pulling her face back as his hands slid down her back, gripping her ass with force, pulling her hips even closer to his.

The sharp movement made his cock slid even further inside of her, their bodies unbelievably close, making her mewl in surprise and pleasure. "That's the kind of noise I don't mind hearing," he cockily whispered in her ear, keeping his grip firm on her hips, not letting her shift from the position they were in. After a long moment, his left hand slid to her thigh, pushing her body ever so slightly out, his hips recoiling, and in a coordinated move, pulling her close again with a hip thrust, causing her to whimper again, this time followed by an involuntary twitch of her leg muscles and a soft shuddering cry that Draco instantly recognized as orgasm.

Draco kissed along her shoulder, down to her collarbone, down each soft breast, keeping their hips completely flush. Ginny caught her breath and observed him. She had been naked no more than five minutes with him and he had already made her cum. "I still fucking hate you, you know that," she murmured.

He laughed against her skin and the sound gave her a slight chill, "I told you, you can hate me," he reminded her, pulling back to watch her features, "Everyone does."

.

.

Draco's heart was beating wildly. He never thought he'd see himself so happy again, never thought he'd see a wedding band on his finger again, never thought he'd have Ginny in his arms again, kissing him, adoring him. He shut his eyes in bliss, practically smelling that sweet basil scent of her so close to him.

"Mister Malfoy, Missus Potter is here," a monotonous voice buzzed into the office, wrecking his concentration and pushing the fantasy from his mind. Draco opened his eyes to see Missus Potter staring back at him through the glass of the mirror.

"Send her in, please," Draco requested, pushing his chair from in front of the mirror, trying to regain his composure. He was pleased she had come, but he didn't expect to be so unsettled by the prospect of having her, in the flesh, in the room.

Ginny pushed into Draco's office with slight trepidation. She had faith in herself to keep the meeting professional, but not enough that she wasn't curious why he'd called. "I do hope whatever you want to show me is outside of your pants," she found herself murmuring, shutting the door with a firm click.

Draco laughed softly, "Really, Weasley, you think so little of me. Besides, I thought it was 'off the record.'" _Yeah right._

Ginny blushed, unable to stop the small smile he elicited, "Touché."

"I wanted to show you that," Draco motioned to the large mirror resting against the wall to her left.

She moved into the office towards Draco, raising an eyebrow, "Please tell me you invited me to come here and admire your reflection."

"Merlin, you're a pain in the ass, will you just look at the thing?" He moved her to stand in front of it and backed away from her reflection.

Ginny looked into the glass from across the room and immediately knew what the item was. _Erised_. Ginny looked at herself, 15 years younger, still young and vibrant, in a Harpies' jersey. Ginny looked into the eyes of a version of herself who didn't know Harry.

"How?" Ginny dragged her eyes to Draco, confusion replaced by shock and a tinge of admiration, "Why?"

"I've been tracking down the pieces for over a decade now," Draco smiled as he sat against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her look at herself. He was dying to know what she saw, but knew she was unlikely reveal it. "The mirror was useless without all the pieces, the enchantment broken. But pop them all together and a simple repair charm will put it right."

"It used to hang in the Slytherin Common Room, long before we were at Hogwarts. Originally belonged to Slytherin himself, as the legend says. It was thought to be destroyed at the Battle of Hogwarts in the Room of Hidden Things," Draco eyed Ginny carefully. "I'm sure you know all about the Fiendfyre," at Ginny's nod he stopped talking. It was the very incident that had indebted Draco to her husband, in a sense. "I think if I had known what I was doing for a living now I would have tried much harder to stop the damn thing. So many artifacts gone beyond repair," he shrugged, "But not all of them. And I've been trying to find and restore what I can, most of it pillaged and separated after the war. Like the pieces of this beauty."

"I've been staring at it all day," he admitted with a boyish smile.

Ginny looked back at herself, turning to the side and then forward again, transfixed by the reflection, "Harry, Ron, and Hermione used to talk about it. How Harry had gotten the Philosopher's Stone by picturing himself with it."

"I see you," Draco said softly, "in my reflection. I see you with me."

Ginny felt her cheeks flame up, not daring to bring her eyes back to Draco's. "You're kidding."

"Wish I was," he said, bringing his arms to rest at his sides. "I can't stop thinking about you."

Ginny felt the cynic in her resist the claim but a more honest part of her knew she hadn't gone a few hours without thought of him either. "Malfoy—"

"—Draco," he corrected. "This isn't a line. This isn't a chat-up. This isn't me hitting on you. Well, it is the last bit a little, but not in any way that isn't earnest."

"If only I could believe you," she stepped away from the mirror, faced him square on.

Draco raised his pointer finger, drawing an X across his heart against his black robes. "How can I prove it to you?"

Ginny recognized the game. He was testing her flirtation and if she played along that was it. She was prey. But he didn't know her at all, did he? It was infuriating to think he even stood a chance at getting into her knickers again, and yet there he was: silver eyes and catlike mannerisms, telling her in no certain terms that he wanted her, desired her, and he'd swear on the honesty of it.

"Why me?" She found herself asking.

"You're pure fire, Ginny Weasley. A fucking force of nature. I can't stop thinking about your freckles, or your maddening questions. The way you fly. The way you cum."

Ginny felt goose flesh spring up on her arms as he spoke.

"I'm not an idiot. I know you won't leave Potter. He's goodness and triumph in a human package. But I can keep a secret."

Ginny had to admit his argument had a certain appeal. "No promises. We won't make any promises," she requested. "This isn't serious, and this isn't permanent."

Draco thought to his reflection, to the wedding band on his finger and the knowledge that in his reflection, Ginny was _his_, but he agreed. The compromise was a small price to pay.

"I can still hate you a little?" Ginny asked, and Draco nodded with a small smile.

"I think I'd actually prefer it.


	5. Part V

It was the fifth snowfall of what felt like an already long winter. In any other year, in any other set of circumstances, Ginny would be enjoying the snowy evening outdoors. She'd go for a long, aimless flight. She'd lay on the soft, pure ground and watch the stars. Staring out of the dorm window she felt completely detached from that life. The war had begun, and Hogwarts was a shell of the haven it used to be. Magical education had been declared mandatory, though the education wasn't exactly practical. Under Snape's leadership, the school had become shrouded in darkness. Curfews were instated, and strictly enforced, giving Ginny too much time to sit and wonder about her family and friends out on the front lines. She felt imprisoned.

Luna hadn't returned from the Christmas holiday, and Ginny felt quick to assume the worst. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were out in the world somewhere, but time seemed to be dragging on in idleness.

She and Neville had decided to continue DA meetings and lessons, and it was the only thing keeping her from losing her mind. Ginny watched the last light of the tower go out, the light cast extinguishing its glow on the snow. When she was sure it was dark, Ginny grabbed her broom and her wand, kicking off from the window into the night.

She did one quick lap around the tower before hovering outside the Hufflepuff den. She raised her wand to the wall and whispered a charm, scrawling across the stone wall: "Dumbledores Army, still recruiting."

She had just finished the message when she heard snow crunching around the corner and she flew up to a nearby ledge to wait out the visitor. The moonlit snow was an ocean of pure cobalt blue surrounding the solitary black silhouette. As it came closer to view, Ginny recognized the figure as Draco Malfoy.

Draco, like many Slytherin boys, hadn't officially returned to school that fall, but could be seen wandering the castle every so often claiming "business" with one of the many new administrators. The "business" was really no mystery, but the frequency with which it was occurring was starting to alarm Ginny. She barely slept, and when she did it was with one eye open and one hand on her wand.

Harry had urged her to be careful. Though they'd split up in an effort to keep her from the radar of dark wizards, Ginny knew anyone with half a brain had to know what she meant to Harry and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. Still, she supposed there was care evident in the misguided logic, even if she did feel cast aside like a child while Harry and his friends mounted their plan.

As the figure came closer, Ginny laid down flat to avoid view. The message she'd just scribbled would come into view at any moment now. Sure enough, the footsteps slowed and halted in front of the wall. Her heart was beating so wildly that she could barely breathe. She didn't mind getting caught and punished for something clever, but vandalism wasn't her finest act.

She could hear robes rustling, and then footsteps continuing on through the fresh snow. When she got the courage to mount her broom again, she flew down to see if the message had been removed or tampered with.

"Dumbledore's Army, still recruiting," it now read. He'd corrected her grammar.

.

.

Draco slid off his robe, hanging it with care on the back of his office door. Straightening out his suit jacket in the mirror, Draco realized he was quite nervous. Though he could look into the mirror of Erised and see Ginny, barely clothed and beckoning him into the glass, knowing he was about to have the real thing was giving him a strange sense of lightness.

He had chosen a hotel, a muggle one. If she wanted discrete and secretive, he would provide it. After checking his messages for a third and final time, he left his office and navigated through Diagon Alley with speed and purpose. Once outside of the Leaky, he walked a few blocks before hailing a black cab, "The Savoy," he requested, comforted when the uncomfortable machine sped forward without a lurch.

Ginny had fiddled with the note all day. It had arrived taped to her typewriter as the previous one had, distinct and neat script, same as before. The text this time read as gibberish, but knowing he had signed it "—DM" gave her enough to crack the code.

"The Savoy at seven."

His family and hers had oceans of bad blood between them. His arm bore the mark of allegiance to a man who had personally tortured her, a man who had betrayed her trust. He was boyhood enemies with her husband, with her brother. An affair with Draco, even just a friendship, might be easily interpreted as a grave betrayal to anyone and everything Ginny considered familiar. _Why does that make this easier?_

The clock on her desk struck 6:45. The bullpen had mostly cleared out, a few writers scrambling to make deadline could be heard clicking away, the sound of struck keys comforting her somewhat. She had gone home at lunch to grab a dress and some perfume, afraid to under-dress for the occasion. _Baby's first intentional affair._

With her mood turning dark, she grabbed her bag and headed to the ladies' room, changing into the dress before Disapparating.

He was waiting in the lobby for her, dressed not in black but a dark navy blue.

Ginny found herself fumbling for the term she had in mind, the appeal of this whole thing, as she crossed to him. His hands fell to her hips and he greeted her with a feather-light kiss to the cheek. His scent intoxicating in the close proximity, musk and might overwhelming her.

The term Ginny groped for arrived in her mind clear and loud as he took her hand to lead her. _Death wish._

_I must have a death wish._

Ginny could smell the tobacco as soon as she stepped from the shower. She squeezed the excess water from her hair before charming it dry, sliding her soiled lingerie back onto her clean body. In a final attempt at modesty, she slid on a bathrobe from the hotel before emerging. Draco was gone from the room, smoke rising from the lit tip of an abandoned cigarette resting in the room's ashtray at the bedside. Ginny had just raised it to her lips for a drag as the door clicked open.

"I didn't know you smoked," Draco raised an eyebrow, his absence explained by the now-full ice bucket in his hands, his statement blisteringly obvious as they knew so little of one another.

"Sometimes. One of my secrets," she took another drag, slowly exhaling the smoke from between pink lips before replacing the cigarette back onto the ashtray.

"I've ordered dinner, it should be here in any moment," he explained, "But I was wondering if you might just let them in, I'd like to clean up."

"Absolutely, sure, no— no problem," Ginny found herself nodding along too, awkwardly.

"They'll just charge it to the room, but the give the waiter this as well," Draco pulled out his wallet, searching for one of the few muggle bills he kept on hand.

"Draco—"

"It's just some muggle..."

"Draco, I live in London. I have muggle money. I can tip the waiter," Ginny pulled a small bill from her own purse.

"Of course," Draco felt his cheeks flush and he apologetically smiled, "I wasn't implying..."

"I know," Ginny found herself blushing as well. "Go take your shower," she directed, and he nodded briefly before disappearing into the bathroom.

.

.

Ginny hurried from The Savoy in complete embarrassment. It was starting to rain, London's sidewalks covered in umbrellas, bustling commuters heading to and fro. In the middle of it all, she felt so small. Just one woman crying in shame as she tried her best to walk home or catch a taxi.

The streets were too crowded with muggles to perform magic, so she couldn't even summon an umbrella. Buckets of water soaking her coat, her clothes, her hair and skin.

Minutes earlier she had been in the warm lobby of the hotel awaiting Draco's arrival. They had had six previous dates at the hotel, all rather successful, and Ginny had began to look forward to the routine. But the routine was broken; after almost two hours of waiting, Draco hadn't arrived at all.

To add insult to injury, a gentleman at the front desk tried to delicately suggest that she "look for a new client in the bar."

The small hiccup felt devastating to her. Over the years, Ginny had taught herself to be independent. She tried her best not to expect anything from others, and to not rely on anyone for companionship. Her isolation was of choice and self-protection, but Draco had stood at her gates and demanded entry. He had begun to prove himself worthy of affection, indispensable as a lover and a confidante. This evening had made a mockery of her eagerness to accept him.

On more than one occasion on the walk home, the thought occurred to her that maybe Draco had done this on purpose to humiliate her. The only thing that saved that thought was that Draco couldn't have possibly commanded the rain.

Ginny submerged her face in the sink, standing back up to manually scrub the tears and makeup and rain from her face. Her anger had subsided somewhat, but out of pride she was certain the affair had to end. Clearly she was too raw, too malleable to remain her own person. It was too risky to continue things this way.

Dunking a tea bag into a cup of hot water, she tried to imagine how the break-up would go. Her resolve had a way of completely dissolving around him. Breaking her concentration came shouting from next door. The couple living in number 11 Grimmauld Place had been living there for over 40 years, but they were now both so hard of hearing that they shouted to one another all day long. Just as she was about to cast a silencing charm at the wall, Ginny heard her surname shouted.

"He wants to know if we know the POT-TER family!"

Ginny grabbed her wand, abandoning her tea and slipping into shoes on instinct. Casting an Impervius charm to repel the rain, she slipped out the back door of the house, circling around the block to Grimmauld Place, keeping her wand drawn.

When she arrived, she saw a figure in a hooded black cloak standing on the porch landing of her neighbor's home. She seized her opportunity and approached the figure, ripping the hood down and keeping her wand drawn as she demanded, "Who are you?"

Her elderly neighbor was quick to shut the door in a fright, just as Ginny realized she was threatening Draco Malfoy.

"Easy," he requested, raising both empty hands defensively, "I come in peace. Please, no hexes, no charms. I've already had a lifetime's fill of trauma at the hands of your Bat-Bogey hex."

"I'm not sure I'm convinced of that," Ginny murmured, but she lowered her wand anyway.

"I couldn't owl, and I knew your house had a Fidelius charm on it. I figured I'd give this a go. Not my best plan, I'll admit," Draco frowned, but kept his hands raised in surrender, "I'm so sorry for earlier. I am so sorry. Ginny, believe me, please. Let me inside. Let me explain."

"I trust you about as far as I could throw you right now. Besides, Harry's home," she lied, retreating down her neighbor's stairs, "And I ought to just go let him pummel you and be done with it."

"Harry's away on business," Draco called after her, "Two nights in Bangkok. You told me last week. I wouldn't have come here otherwise."

Ginny knew if she let Draco into her home the secret of its existence would be spread. She tried to tell herself the war was over, the secret was now for privacy more than protection, but her heart was still racing from the assumption she had had moments ago. She couldn't bring herself to let him in.

Draco sensed her hesitation and kicked himself again for the day's actions. "We'll find a bar, a cafe. I don't care, just please let me explain. I know I fucked up."

Ginny wanted to walk away but he was there, genuine, begging. _End it. End it now._

"Astoria is asking for full custody of Scorpius," Draco burst into explanation, knowing he might not get a chance to explain in private. "She's claiming with the business and the Falcons that I don't have time to be a parent."

Ginny found her heart growing sympathetic. His hair was a mess, untidy from the wind and rain, his body language open, offering, not reserved as it normally was. Everything read to her as entirely genuine, but she tried her best to steel her gaze, "I'm sorry, Draco."

"I know he's fifteen. But with school, I see him so little as it is. I can't stand the thought of that being year-round. I want to start bringing him up in the business... he's got a knack for it. We were at a negotiation that ran far too long. By the time I got to the hotel... they told me you'd gone," Draco took a deep breath, "Please forgive me."

Ginny shook her head, "It's nothing. Consider it forgotten," she crossed her arms across her chest in an effort to downplay her emotions. Somehow she knew Draco wasn't buying the act.

"Let me make it up to you," he offered, "Come to the Manor. Spend the night. I'll cook."

"You can cook?" Ginny tried not to be so incredulous.

"A few dishes, yes. 'One of my secrets,'" he teased her. "I'll pop into the corner shop for some wine, if you'll go pack."

Ginny found herself nodding, volunteering her heart for more pummeling, reaching out for company and attention even though she shouldn't.

A small smile graced his lips, "You have ten minutes before I knock on number 13," he warned in playful severity, starting his way down the street in the lightening rain. Ginny watched him disappear into the mist before turning back to her home, letting herself in and packing a bag.

.

.

Draco pushed the day's thoughts from his mind from the moment he walked in the door. For her part, she seemed dedicated to bury her discomfort at being in his home by keeping conversation moving. She effortlessly chopped a mound of vegetables with speed while recounting her week's griefs at work.

So often in those domestic moments with her, Draco felt incredibly lucky that he had been the one to notice her unhappiness. She was an incredible woman, and the first person in years to not expect something from treating him kindly.

"How are your children?" he cleared his throat to ask in a lull of conversation.

Ginny let her eyes rise to his, a smile on her lips, "My goodness, Draco. Are you making _an effort_?" she teased him, breaking into a full grin when she noticed he was getting a little red.

"I am making an attempt at getting to know you better, yes. Is that really so shocking?" Draco distracted himself with the pot on the stove, adding the now-chopped vegetables with care. He stilled his motions when he felt her arms embrace him from behind, her face pressed into the center of his back.

"I was so angry with you today," she admitted, barely a whisper.

"I know," he admitted, silent for a long minute, "I deserve it. I let you down. It's not anything I intended to ever do."

"It scares me how close we're getting," she squeezed him tighter, exhibiting affection that almost bowled him over. "It scares me how much I want to trust you," she let her hands fan out flat over his chest, keeping him close.

Draco let his hands come up and rest over hers. After a short exhale, a spontaneous declaration began to form in his mind, speeding out of his mouth in desperate need for her to hear it, "Ginny, I l—"

"—Don't," she spoke, withdrawing her hands from him, stepping away. "No promises, remember?"

.

.

"Tell me something you need," Ginny whispered, resting her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat return to normal. They were both a little wine drunk, a little post-coital affectionate, and a little nervous to share their first sleep together.

He traced a line of freckles around her shoulder, towards her elbow with an idle fingertip, "A need or a desire?"

"A need. A real need," Ginny tilted her head to rest her chin on his chest, her warm eyes shining in the low light of the bedroom, "A deep one. Private."

He took a deep breath as he thought about it, "I need... I needed someone to treat me kindly," he admitted. "The war never really gets further from my memory. I know we're getting older, I know the world has changed," he let his gaze rise to the ceiling, "But my father's legacy is the one I inherited."

"I swore my allegiance to a man I never respected, I let fear motivate my actions, I let myself be an actor in my own life. Some days I honestly have no idea how I survived," he cleared his throat softly, his mind running over stills from his life; moments preserved in his memory like amber. "People look at me in shops with trepidation, even still. I'm weighed down by my past. No one ever lets me forget who I was."

"My name raises eyebrows and suspicion. My son would probably be better off with his mother, as a Greengrass," Draco shut his eyes, the thoughts rolling to him in honest, quiet admittance.

Ginny reached for his left arm, raising it and cupping her cheek with the hand, kissing the palm, down his wrist, to the dormant mark that caused her lover so much pain. It was no secret that Draco was a prideful man, Ginny was comforted to hear he too had been in shambles before their affair began.

Draco held her close in a tight, grateful embrace.

"The war never disappears for me either," she admitted, squeezing him tight. "Sometimes I miss it... Isn't that a grotesque thought? Things were so much simpler."

"I have everything I ever wanted when I was a girl, and it's like I'm just now realizing it was all completely wrong," she whispered against his skin, "Being a Potter has drawn applause in shops and restaurants. Just for existing. We get gifts from strangers on our birthdays, even. And for what? My family wouldn't even let me fight in the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry never took me on his quests. I was on the sidelines because everyone was so afraid something would happen to me," Ginny let herself be held, shut her eyes as tears tried to escape. Years of repressed guilt bubbling out of her. "Sometimes I feel like I can still hear Tom Riddle in my head, telling me how special I am. Even though it was a lie, even though I was just a pawn to him, it was the first time anyone paid any attention to me."

Draco kissed her closed eyelids, their breathing evening to match, inhaling and exhaling in perfect mirrored movements. They fell asleep entwined.

.

.

Ginny woke to an empty bed, but there was a note pinned to the pillow beside her, "Breakfast is made for you downstairs, I have an early meeting but I will be back before 10. See if you can solve the puzzle. —DM"

Intrigued, she pulled herself from bed, shaking her sleep slowly as she shuffled her naked body into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash up. She spent a few minutes deciphering French labels from anything he'd provided for her, blushing as she realized the items must have belonged to his ex-wife at some point. They littered the bathroom counter.

She took care to not look too made-up, though she had packed a robe and chemise for her stay. The chocolate brown of the silk set played off her eyes, she hoped, but she focused on trying to look somewhat effortless. So often she felt there was simply no point in trying to kid herself; she was a mother of three and youth had left her. She didn't know what Draco possibly saw worth wanting.

Memory of the night before rolled over her in soft, pleasant waves as she descended the stairs of the grand house. Illuminated in sunlight, the Manor had a completely different feel than the night prior. Ginny was able to notice details—Draco's collection of mismatched antiques filling almost every surface in the house, even a notable absence of anything related to his father. She followed a heavenly scent to an overzealous breakfast set-up in a conservatory.

Ginny settled in to eat the meal prepared for her, curious about the puzzle Draco had mentioned until she looked out to the lush, well-manicured grounds just beyond the glass enclosure of the room.

Sitting on Draco's garden patio in the post-storm sun, looking quite out of place, was the Weasley family clock.

Ginny pushed out the door and approached the object, squinting in the morning light as she examined it. The clock had so many portraits fashioned onto it now that it was nearly impossible to read, every grandchild and spouse in her very large family affixed to the clock hands. There was one obvious malfunction—though it hardly seemed to be a puzzle—Ginny's portrait was quite firmly and immovably pointed at the destination of "Lost".

Ginny returned to her breakfast table for a few quick mouthfuls, still confused as to why the object was here, of all places. Obviously, Draco had intended to leave it there for her, so logic brought her to the conclusion that the item had been brought to one of Draco's shops for repair. Ginny carried her cup of tea out to the patio, setting it down nearby as she began performing simple charms on the clock to get it in working order again. She cleaned most of the gears, taking great care with the family heirloom, polishing each mysteriously-sticky arm with love. She took great care, most of all, on George's arm. After the war, Fred's portrait had been half spellotaped in loving tribute to George's, two smiling halves of a broken set.

Ginny frowned at her own portrait's insistence at pointing to her emotional state and not her location. She picked up her tea to finish it before a thought struck her. In all the time she had been in her childhood home, her father had never once let an object be replaced or repaired without a thoroughly misguided attempt at fixing it himself. If charms wouldn't work, if spells wouldn't solve it, her father would try everything in the cupboard. _The clock arms were sticky._

"_Tergeo_," Ginny flicked her wand and watched with satisfaction as her portrait rotated naturally to the label: "Traveling," free of whatever syrupy substance had been interfering with the mechanism.

"You solved it," Draco called to her proudly from the doorway of the conservatory, "I think I owe you some sort of commission," he smiled, joining her outside. "It's an incredible object, truly. I'm happy I got to see something like it in my lifetime."

"Surely it's not that rare," Ginny shrugged, tying her robe around her to block out the fall chill.

"Last of its kind, far as I know. Every pureblood family used to own one, but they went out of style in the late 18th Century. This one was from your mother's family. Prewett," Draco opened a side panel of the clock where a very faded, barely legible label marked the clock's original owners. "Quite extraordinary," Draco replaced the panel with a smile, "Seeing as you solved the puzzle, I suppose you deserve a prize."

Ginny grinned, "Is it something I'll regret looking forward to?"

Draco laughed, shaking his head as he kissed her gently, "Good morning," he whispered against her lips before pulling himself from her to retrieve something in the house.

Ginny followed him into the house to refill her teacup. Draco returned with his hand behind his back and dramatically, he pulled out a small, flat, velvet box. Before Ginny could react, he had opened the box revealing a gold brooch, a lion with small rubies for eyes. The object felt familiar, she had seen it in photographs, but she couldn't remember when or from where.

"This isn't a gift for you, unfortunately," Draco handed the box to Ginny, "When your mother brought in the clock for repair we struggled to find her account because the account hadn't been used in over thirty years."

"My father likes to think of himself as a 'tinkerer'," Ginny explained with a small smile.

"When we found the records, I realized the last business she'd had with the shop had been the year you were born when she sold this brooch to the shop. Other than the gems it seems to hold little value, and since it's been sitting in inventory I thought it should return to the woman it rightfully belongs to," Draco explained, sheepishly studying Ginny for her reaction.

"I wanted to give it to her myself when she picks up the clock, but I have a strong feeling she won't take it from me," Draco smiled dimly. "I thought, since Christmas is coming up, it might make a nice gift to her from you."

Ginny clapped the box shut, placing it on the breakfast table with care before grabbing the back of Draco's neck and pulling him down to her height for a kiss. Startled, but appreciative, he pulled her close, hungrily returning the kiss. They clashed, lips and teeth and tongue until they broke for air.

Ginny grabbed a firm hold of his shirt, dragging him into the house, up the stairs, and into the bedroom.

.

.

Draco was finding it harder and harder to say goodbye to her. The affair had been going on for a few months now, and he was finding the guilt that had once held back his brazenness was barely showing up at all. Ginny was his, Harry was the other, and that was that.

He stroked her soft red hair, enjoying their last few moments before a hectic Christmas holiday apart. Each of them had volunteered to pick up their children from King's Cross, making a convenient excuse for an early lunch at The Savoy and an afternoon waiting for the train in a cab outside the station, "I don't want you to go," he whispered, breathing in her scent, trying to memorize it.

"I don't want to go, but the train arrives in a few minutes," Ginny reluctantly picked her head up off of his shoulder, shutting the book she'd been reading in her lap, "What are the rules," she asked for his repetition.

"The rules," he laid his arm across her shoulders, pulling her close. "No gifts, no owls, no calls, no contact until after Christmas."

"And?" Ginny turned her head to look up at him.

"And when we see one another on the train platform, we don't know each other," Draco agreed, frowning as her watch chimed out. She reluctantly pulled away, tucking her book into her purse, opening the door to the cab. "Boxing Day?"

"Boxing Day," he agreed. "Now go on, don't want to be late."

Ginny nodded and slid out of the cab, pulling on her coat and shutting the door firmly. Kings Cross was busy, as it always was, but she walked with determination. She made it into the main hall before her arm was grabbed and yanked nearly out of its socket.

"Are you kidding me?" Hermione hissed, dragging her across the floor to the woman's restroom. Ginny's mind began to race as Hermione bullied her into a stall for the handicapped, locking the two of them in and blocking the exit. "_Muffliato._ Ginny. Explain yourself."

"Explain what?" Ginny huffed, even though she knew it would only upset the other woman.

"Explain why anyone with two eyes could observe you and _Draco Malfoy _playing tonsil tennis in a cab outside," Hermione was furious, obviously so, but somehow all Ginny could think of was being caught by Ron kissing Dean Thomas in a broom closet her fourth year. It took all of her restraint not to laugh.

"He's a good kisser," Ginny bravely admitted, not shying her gaze from Hermione's.

"Ginny!"

"What do you want me to say? You caught me," Ginny sighed, "What you really want to know is if I'm sleeping with him, if I'm cheating on Harry, and for how long. You want to know why Draco, and you want to tell me to stop."

Hermione seemed even more furious that Ginny had taken words from her mouth, "This isn't amusing, Ginny."

"It is to me," Ginny frowned. "Now if you'll let me pass, I have children to retrieve."

"Ginny," Hermione's frown lines could reach the floor if they went any lower.

"We'll talk over Christmas," Ginny acquiesced in compromise, "Not now. I think we can both agree this isn't the time or place," she waited for her sister-in-law to move aside.

"This will crush him, Ginny," Hermione whispered, not moving from her spot. Ginny did not need to ask for clarification on which 'he' was meant.

"Hermione, it's not about him," Ginny found herself admitting, "It's about me," she huffed, pushing forward to intimidate Hermione away from the door, "For once," she huffed, tossing open the door and striding through it.


	6. Part VI

Ginny slipped her wedding band off and on her finger as she sat up in bed.

Since being confronted by Hermione at King's Cross, a stone was sitting heavy in her stomach. She was angry with herself for getting so comfortable and brazen about the affair that it was found out so simply. They had been so careful in the beginning. _Maybe I wanted to get caught._ The fun of the affair seemed to be cooling into inevitable consequence.

Adding to her anxiety, Harry was quieter since the children had arrived; but Ginny was unsure if she was just looking for something to be wrong.

Harry entered the bedroom with his gaze drawn to the floor. He gently clicked the door shut behind him and moved wordlessly to the bathroom they shared, flicking on the light and leaving the door slightly ajar. She could hear him brushing his teeth with his usual vigor. Rinse, spit, brush. Rinse, spit, rinse brush. Twenty years of the same routine. She slid the wedding band back onto her finger and extinguished the lamp by her bedside.

Ginny's heart was beginning to race. She could feel the tension of the room rising, she could sense Harry wanted to get something off his chest. She was dying for the crest, the break in the drama, the resolution.

Harry shuffled to his side of the bed, drawing his feet from his slippers and turning to face her over his shoulder as he removed his watch and set his alarm.

"I think we should get going closer to ten in the morning, rather than eleven," he finally murmured towards her. "I can help Arthur arrange the beds, the boys can collect some wood. Your father is always so overwhelmed in the morning, I think it will really help some."

"Okay," Ginny found herself agreeing, swallowing thickly as he extinguished his lamp and kissed her cheek.

"Goodnight," he murmured before rolling onto his side under the covers.

In the settling darkness she finally laid down, staring up at the ceiling. She felt plagued by one thought, irrational as it was, and it kept her from fully drifting off.

_He knows._

_.  
><em>

_.  
><em>

Since his divorce had taken a turn towards unpleasantness, Draco's expectations of Christmas had plummeted. He would be without work, without Ginny, for more than a week. In addition, the Greengrass family would be host for the holiday, so he would have to play the role of a polite guest—not his strongest character.

Scorpius, though technically residing at Malfoy Manor until custody was resolved, had begun to act out against his father in response to the finality of his parents' relationship. The slammed doors, the loud music, and the curt, monosyllabic replies were setting Draco on edge.

"He's just a boy," Narcissa would try to explain, swirling blood red wine in her goblet as she gave her weary parental advice. "You were ten times worse at this age."

"He's too smart to pretend he doesn't know what's going on," Draco sighed, rubbing at his temples.

"Maybe he's upset because he knows exactly what _is_ going on," Narcissa offered, returning her wine to the table. "Divorce is awful for children."

"You know this wasn't my choice, Mother," Draco warned her in his most serious tone.

"But you are happier in the long run for it," she remarked. "And so is he."

"I think I will retire for the evening," she excused herself, kissing the top of his head tenderly as she headed for the staircase. "Goodnight, Draco."

.

.

Ginny spent most of the morning trying to focus and the rest of it pulling apart at the seams. She made sure her children were packed for the few nights' stay at the Burrow, tossed together an imperfect breakfast, packed up the family's presents; she cried briefly in the shower, watched Harry read the paper, dreaded seeing Hermione in a few hours.

The control she had mastered over her life was slipping from her grip at rapid speed.

Somewhere in the morning of racing thoughts she convinced herself that Harry couldn't possibly know about the affair. She was probably just seeing signs out of fear. That thought was enough to get her out the door and on with the day, trying with champion effort to be the most normal she could be. The clean segmentations she'd drawn: her marriage, her motherhood, and herself were bleeding into one another. The nights and days of dropped pretense had knit the roles together so naturally for her, pulling them apart again felt sloppy and unrehearsed.

Arriving at the Burrow, she tried to let herself get swept up in joy of the holiday. Reunited with her family and the chaos of the bustling household provided her with comforting familiarity and ample distractions. She just had to not doubt herself and things would be fine.

Hermione and Ron arrived in the late afternoon, 4 more sets of footsteps added to the Burrow's plethora of temporary inhabitants. Rising to greet her niece, nephew, and brother, Ginny wasn't surprised in the least when Hermione volunteered her to help unpack the family into Ron's old room. Though she tried to insist her game of Wizard's chess with Bill was more pressing, her brother admitted he'd been cheating and would be happy to call it a draw. Hermione took that as sign enough, and put on an awful, opaque act to demand Ginny's ear.

"We just have _so_ much to talk about," Hermione pleaded for no one's benefit, the words and sentiment icing Ginny's blood with dread and recoil. Still, she followed Hermione up the stairs, knowing the matter was unavoidable.

As Ginny settled in on Ron's bed, Hermione performed every silencing spell Ginny knew of and some she didn't. "You know I don't have many girl friends," Hermione blurted out, as if she had been holding in the words like held breath. "You know I treasure our friendship, our bond. I haven't told Ron and it's been killing me not to. We don't keep secrets, and I don't keep secrets from Harry either, but I've tried my hardest to honor confidence from you."

Hermione settled onto the bed next to her, "But I don't think I can keep a secret like this much longer, Ginny."

"I don't think you'll have to," Ginny admitted, awkwardly discomforted at the sudden appearance of a confidante. She hadn't thought of Hermione as such a figure in so long.

"Tell me what's going on," she implored. "I promise I will try my hardest not to judge the situation. It's your life, Ginny, but I don't want you to make a mistake you'll regret."

Ginny frowned at the thought. She had spoken up all those years ago, she had quietly admitted she was doubting her love for Harry. Her secret then had fallen on deaf ears.

"Everyone has bad moments, Ginny. No marriage is perfect. You know how Ron and I fight," Hermione began.

"It hasn't been bad moments, Hermione," Ginny interjected impatiently, knotting her hands together as she picked at her own cuticles in distraction. "Harry and I have been having bad _years._"

"We don't fight, we never fight. We just don't talk, or we don't listen. I can't really tell which is worse," Ginny tried to explain. "I haven't felt like myself, like the real me, in so long. I just resigned myself to being the best version of who he wanted me to be and making it work for the sake of the vows we made."

"And then I met Draco again and everything changed," she whispered Draco's name as if it was the secret alone. To her credit Hermione stayed silent, letting Ginny continue without prodding.

"I was assigned to write a piece on him in September, you remember," Ginny flicked her gaze up to catch Hermione's silent nod before returning it back to her nails, "I slept with him that night for the first time. He could see right through me, right through to my bones. He could see how sad I was. Bored. Drowning. I don't know if I hated it or loved it, but I wanted to feel something and I just wanted to feel it with him. It just happened so fast."

"I'd never been with someone other than Harry," Ginny felt her cheeks flame up and hated herself for it. She shut her eyes and covered her face in shame, or embarrassment, or relief at the secret's airing.

"Later that week he invited me to his office and I intended to just waltz in there and have a little banter and leave. Stupidly I was naive to think that was how things would be. Casual and playful but never crossing that line again," she shook her head, sighing softly. "I was enthralled. Draco can be remarkably pointed about what he wants and how he wants it. It's... intoxicating," she looked up to Hermione. "Are you sure you want to hear all of this?"

Hermione blushed, "I think you need to tell it."

Ginny tucked one leg up on the bed, turning her body to face Hermione's more directly. "We've been meeting once or twice a week ever since, usually in a muggle hotel in the afternoon. Every time Harry is out of town, I spend the night with him. We... he..."

"Do you love him?" Hermione asked softly and Ginny found a lump forming in her throat as she thought carefully.

After a long pause of silence, Ginny found herself nodding an affirmation.

"We don't say it," she immediately clarified. "We never let ourselves say it. But I do. And I think he does. It just got so complicated so fast. He's..."

"You need to tell Harry," Hermione spoke quietly, but sternly. "This is dangerous, and you know it. You were incredibly cavalier at King's Cross. You acted like you didn't care who you hurt in this process, but I know that isn't true. You just need to decide if this is worth ending your marriage over, or if your marriage is worth more, and you need to stick by that decision, Ginny."

Ginny hated the ultimatum but she'd been dancing around it herself for days. "I've tried to break off the affair, I just..._can't_, Hermione. Draco sees me. Every last imperfection. He accepts me, embraces me."

"But Harry was the man to do that once too, Ginny," Hermione brushed back Ginny's hair in a practiced motherly gesture.

"Everyone in his life has left him, Hermione. His parents, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore," Ginny took a shaky inhale. "I think you know I can't leave him. It's not an option for me. My children would never forgive me, my family, strangers..."

"Then that's your answer," Hermione held her gaze for a long moment, trying to soothe her. It wasn't soothing to Ginny how obviously relieved Hermione was at the idea that the affair would come to an end. As if the other woman was just grateful the matter would be buried, with the least amount of change made to her world view.

"I don't know," Ginny pulled her gaze, running her fingers through her hair, torn now more than ever on what to do.

Hermione nodded, exhaling slowly, "Take out your wand," she requested.

Ginny raised an eyebrow but did as she was told, "Why?"

Hermione smiled sadly, "You are going to cast a Fidelius charm on me. I'll keep the secret. This way I won't be so susceptible to telling Ron or Harry before you feel ready. And if anyone else discovers you with Draco they won't find it to be information worth remembering."

Ginny felt her whole body temperature rise in panic. "Are you sure, Hermione? This is..."

"As long as you promise me I won't have to keep the secret forever," Hermione offered another smile. "We've always been sisters, Ginny. I wish you would have told me sooner."

Ginny wanted so badly to trust Hermione, but the matter would get complicated incredibly quickly as it already had. _This is for the best_. The redhead pulled herself into strict concentration and brief focus, raising her wand. "_Obliviate_," she spoke clearly.

A look of confusion came over Hermione's features, fading after a moment into blank pleasantry.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," she spoke gently. "What were we talking about?"

.

.

Draco watched the snow fall on the stadium, huge clumped snowflakes lazily dropping from the sky, piling themselves on the deserted pitch below. He was regretting the meeting place, but only because his office was taking longer than expected to warm. He had laid out blankets and pillows, and his charms were only just getting the room to a temperature he felt comfortable taking off his coat in. Two Whiskwhips were waiting resting against his desk, one tied with a happy red bow.

The clock struck midnight and he uncorked the wine, pouring himself a glass and settling in behind his desk to comb over paperwork in the hopes that at any moment he'd pick his head up to find her in his doorway.

She never came.

.

.

Ginny took care to wash up and put on perfume before she climbed into bed. She would wait until Harry drifted off and sneak out to the pitch to meet Draco. She would decide in the morning to continue on or end the affair. She would make her decision and stick to it.

Harry smiled at her from the doorway as he shut the door and slid the lock in place. With a cheesy waggle of the eyebrows, he leapt into bed playfully.

Ginny raised an eyebrow of her own at his strange behavior but found his mouth on hers when she went to ask about his actions.

"Perfume," he murmured, kissing down her jaw, across her pulse point. "I know what perfume means. It has been so long, Ginny," his arms were around her, his kisses insistent. "You spoil me," he whispered, one hand cupping her thigh, holding her as the frenzy of kisses slowed.

.

.

Draco felt manic, and destructive. After waking up alone in his office on the 27th, he couldn't shake the feeling that his luck had run out.

He spent the majority of the first day after that night trying to distract himself with work. The second day had been spent in bed barely moving. Ginny still hadn't sent word or apologized. The third day was spent mostly drunk or drinking, coming to the realization that the affair was over.

On the fourth day, spectacularly hungover and in a mood of abject self-loathing, Draco agreed to a rough compromise on custody just wanting the matter over with. In an effort to please someone, even Astoria, he reduced his fatherhood to one weekend per month and Christmas or Easter, alternating the holidays by year. It was a shit deal and he knew it, but he signed the paperwork. Astoria's mood remained unchanged. He then resisted the urge to shove his ex-wife onto the train tracks as they jointly sent Scorpius back off to school.

He spent the evening of the fourth day, New Years Eve, drunk again, this time in front of Erised.

The fifth day was spent reliving his life's radical moments in his pensive. More self-loathing, more masochism. His father's will played over and over again, his wedding, Astoria driving him from the Manor, receiving the dark mark, the day Scorpius was born, Ginny at the Savoy, Ginny in his office, Ginny at the Manor, Ginny, Ginny, Ginny.

On the sixth day, Astoria wrote to announce she was getting remarried in the summer. Draco, though grateful his generous alimony would be at an end, couldn't find joy at the news.

On the seventh day, Draco burned every last note he had gotten from Potter's wife.

He burned the few items she'd left behind at the house.

He burned his copy of the article she'd written about him.

He burned the book she'd lent him to read over the holiday.

He burned the broom intended to be her gift.

He shaved, took a sleeping draught, and put the past behind him.

.

.

Harry pushed open the shop door, dusting off his boots as he took his first look around at the store he hadn't been in since he was a boy. Though Knockturn had been renamed, adopted as an extension of the Alley and dusted off as 'new', Harry never really felt the element had changed. Lining shelves around the store were visibly dangerous items—mummified animals, pureblood jewels—items not quite dark enough to be illegal but dark enough to bring about doubt in the shop owner's allegiance.

With a few harsh words and the flash of a badge at an easily frightened shop attendant, Harry was directed to the back staircase. Climbing it lead to one door: warped solid wood with silver filigree at eye level.

"Draco Malfoy / Owner" it read, and Harry raised a knuckle for a firm, official knock.

"It's open, Baldock," Draco called out, clearly irritated. "It's always open," he explained, picking his head up from his work as the door swung into the room.

Draco was surprised to recognize his visitor, but hid his surprise well. "Potter. To what do I owe the pleasure," he addressed the man, returning his gaze and his quill to his work as though he couldn't be bothered.

When the door clicked shut, Draco abandoned his quill, and slowly drew his hand under the desk for his wand. It was illegal to curse an Auror but this was unlikely to be a professional call.

Harry pulled his hands from his pockets, showing their emptiness. "Malfoy, if I wanted to hex you, you would be hexed. I would have done it through the window, from the street," he explained, walking around the perimeter of Draco's spacious office, examining objects but knowing better than to touch any of them. He stilled in front of the covered mirror, pausing before turning to Draco for permission, "May I?"

"Sure," Draco leaned back in his chair. "You were probably going to insist anyway," he turned to face Harry more square on, not removing his hand from its grip on his wand.

Harry pulled the heavy velvet curtain aside, smiling as the familiar object came into view, its magic working in the way he remembered. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that possession of this mirror is illegal."

"It is being donated back to the school at the end of the year. I have put in a commission for a new custom frame. The old one was too charred to be salvageable," Draco explained, still on edge by Harry's presence.

Harry nodded, seeming to take that as a good enough answer, replacing the curtain before moving to stand in front of Draco's desk. "Mister Malfoy, I'm afraid to inform you that you have been doing something incredibly dangerous… Playing with fire, so to speak."

"You see, sleeping with another man's wife is incredibly stupid. Sleeping with an Auror's wife is practically suicide."

Draco very badly wanted to roll his eyes in the face of Potter's theatrics, but he kept his gaze trained on Harry's. Green and silver met in perverse balance.

"I don't know what you're referring to," Draco replied dryly, bored by the intimidation.

"Enough," Harry snapped at him, loud and severe in an unexpected way. "I am here to let you know I will not be as generous in my blindness should you contact her again."

"And if fear of your own bodily harm doesn't do the trick, perhaps I should remind you that you are a businessman who relies solely on the favor of the wizarding population. I'm sure you understand what a public allegation of dark magical artifacts refurbished and sold by a former Death Eater could do to dissuade confidence in this establishment," Harry's eyes narrowed but never wavered.

The two men stared at one another for a long moment. In many ways they were born to be rivals: evenly matched in build, wit, and passion. As boys, their different levels of courage separated them in a way that had evened out as Draco grew into himself.

Unable to hold back his cheek, Draco broke the silence first. "It must truly kill you that she came to me," he taunted. "Well... came _with_ me. And _on_ me. And _around_ m—"

Draco was impressed at the speed of Harry's draw, finding himself at the unfortunate end of an Asphyxia hex before he could finish his thought. Feeling his windpipe crush under an invisible weight in a moment that seemed infinite, Draco flailed an arm in surrender and the charm released. Gasping in air, and coughing as he filled his lungs, Draco's mind raced to retaliate. When he looked up in rage, ready to speak again, Harry had already gone.

.

.

For the first time in years, Ginny felt desire for her husband. His kisses slowed from their frenzy, showing focus and determination. With Hermione's words ringing in her ears, Ginny let fear guide her decision. _I can't leave him_, she thought.

"Slow down," she whispered sweetly, cupping the back of his neck to regain control of the moment. When his body had stilled, she slid back the sheets, pulling him to rest between her legs. His eyes met hers and she rewarded him with a willing kiss. "We have all night," she whispered, and she could feel Harry's sunshine grin against her skin as she plucked his glasses from his face, reaching to put them on the bedside table.

"I knew you'd come back to me," he whispered into a kiss against her neck, barely audible.

He'd spoken so soft she wasn't sure she heard it at first.

In hindsight she wished she hadn't.


	7. Part VII

Ginny ran her fingers across Harry's scalp as he slept. She had recommitted herself to the marriage, recommitted herself to their life, but in the weeks since Christmas little had really changed.

Though it was clear Harry knew about the affair, he never mentioned it. Ginny never spoke of it, and she tried her best to prove she wouldn't waver again. As the dalliance grew further and further from her mind, she was grateful it had ended quietly and with some dignity.

She still thought of Draco, but she knew their relationship was no longer a possibility. Their time had been the once upon a time when he had needed kindness and she had needed honesty, but the affair had never been permanent.

Harry shifted in his sleep and Ginny let him resettle, his arm slung across her lap, his face resting on her thigh. He gave a soft snore. She shut her book silently and set it at her bedside, tracing over the infamous scar on Harry's forehead. When they had married, they had sworn to honor one another, and she would try her best to do so again. Harry would never do anything to hurt her. Not intentionally. It was the lie that she had built her life around.

.

.

With the Quidditch season starting, Ginny began to find her workload overwhelming. There were never enough correspondents to cover all the matches, and the race to meet deadline was challenging. Tacking away at her notes of the just-finished Kestrals-Cannons game in the wee hours of the night, Ginny tried her hardest to keep focus.

"Potter! Lend us a hand?" Cal McDougall shouted down to her. The night editor was four feet tall and constantly running about as if on fire. "I need a pull on anything related to the Malfoys in the past five years," he called out in urgency as he raced across the narrow byway above the open bullpen, the metal giving a terrible clacking noise with each of his hurried footsteps, "Priority one!"

"What's going on?" Ginny frowned at the urgency. "I have to finish up the match write-up..."

"Priority one," he demanded. "Obits need it!" Cal called, running along the second floor offices before pausing at the mouth of a hallway headed towards the hall of records. "Rumor has it Narcissa Malfoy won't last the night," he shouted, shuffling down the hallway, his footsteps fading into the darkness.

.

.

Ginny stood at the gates to Malfoy Manor with a bouquet in her hands. For the first time in weeks, she'd lied to Harry about where she was going when she left the house. He wouldn't understand and she didn't want to waste her breath explaining.

She remembered so vividly the last time she had been inside the gates. Draco had given her a full tour of the house, from the attic to the dungeons. As he calmly explained the horrors of the household and his childhood there, he held her hand tight.

It was the day she realized she had fallen in love with him.

He moved on to explain each object he'd collected, filling the rooms of the dark house, breathing new purpose into the home. There was every kind of object in magical history, restored and cataloged with great care. He'd turned the house into a museum of sorts—using his wits and his fortune to try and preserve history. It was proof to anyone with a mind that Draco Malfoy was a believer in magical progress, but it was unlikely to be how history would remember him.

Narcissa had been dead for less than a day and Ginny herself had already overheard phrases the woman did not deserve. '_No one ever lets me forget who I was_,' Draco had told her once. She understood that more than ever.

She stood at the gates of the manor for almost a half hour debating if she was even welcome to cross onto the property. In the end, she placed her bouquet at the gate, and retreated.

.

.

The winter continued to be mild. A few snowfalls after Christmas, a few thaws, and spring broke early to raucous color. Just as the cherry blossoms began to bloom in mid-March, just as the Falmouth Falcons were preparing for their season opening, Narcissa Malfoy fell ill and swiftly passed on not long after.

Unprepared, Draco retreated from the world.

In an effort to feel near to her again—the steadfast woman who had protected him above all else—Draco had slept in her bedroom since her death. Surrounding himself with her belongings comforted him in a rare and precious way.

With no family and no remaining close friends, there was no funeral and no fanfare. Draco was grateful he did not have to host in his state. Without others around, he was free to grieve without attempts at maintaining his mask. He could remember his mother as she truly was to him. He was certain he had never been weaker than he was then. Those days seemed without hope of an end, until he found the diary.

.

.

Narcissa dipped her quill in ink, bringing it to hover over the page as she watched Draco out on the heath. The cottage was more humble than either of them had anticipated, but it was the perfect hiding place while they weathered out the aftershock. Leaving Lucius behind had been a necessity, but she wasn't sure her son believed it to be so.

Draco had found a spot in the grass, his dark clothes easily spottable against the greenery of the country field and the cloudless blue sky. She wanted to know more than anything the thoughts going through his head. His whole entire world had changed. Unlike her, Draco had no experience of the first war to call upon. He had no idea what lay before them going forward. He was still a boy to her, just seventeen.

She brought the quill to the page and began to write. She explained to him that one day he would realize all his father had done for him. One day he would realize the awful situation thrust upon their family. "Mal foi," she defined for him. "Bad faith."

She told him the words she could never find the courage to tell him out loud: how often she had prayed for the courage to leave the pureblood life behind. She begged him to find love, true love, and to throw away all obstacles in the way even if they were of his own making.

"Do not mistake stubbornness for strength," she advised him.

Narcissa realized how grateful she was that she had escaped the war with the only thing that really mattered to her: Draco. Sitting in a dusty cottage in the middle of nowhere with barely a possession to her name and no money to speak of, she was content.

She watched her son's face the wind, his hair carrying, his unshaven jaw a strong profile as he shut his eyes in the fading sun of the day. They had spent so long in darkness, the both of them. _No longer._

"Leave this earth having expended all you have to give. Be brave," she signed it. "Your ever-loving mother."

.

.

Ginny tried her hardest to maintain a smile, finding it impossible to shake the set of eyes burrowing into her. Harry was speaking at the podium now, something she was used to, but she felt a thousand leagues under water. The chuckles and smiles of the rest of the crowd drifted above her in reminder of how charming Harry could be when the effort would go applauded. She wasn't even listening. Ginny added extra effort to her expression, flashing her eyes to her husband in what she hoped read as adoration. Inside, she couldn't breathe.

When Harry had concluded, amidst a loud cheer, Percy joined him on the stage. With a clapped hand to the back and clasped hands, they held for a photograph. Her brother, the most ambitious one, had finally decided to announce his candidacy for Minister of Magic. Running on a strong boost of post-war support—with Harry as a firm endorser of his name—Percy was already making a fast run out of the political gate. This, the first of many fundraising dinners to come, was sure to be an important evening for her family. Not wanting to detract any attention, she quietly excused herself to get some fresh air.

Ginny weaved through rows of circular tables, navigating her way quickly towards the exit. Though it was chilled outside, she was just happy to momentarily be gone from the hall and the silver eyes that had been tracking her all night.

"You look ill," he drawled, joining her on the steps of the venue without invitation. It was the first set of words she'd heard from him in over four months; their time apart had grown longer than their time together. His voice was sharper than she remembered.

"You are the last person I expected to see here," Ginny faced him, noticing up close how he seemed to be quite gaunt. She suspected his mother's death was to blame.

"My best guess is your body is slowly killing itself so that you don't have to plaster on the smile anymore. The charade is draining you," Draco produced his silver cigarette case from an inside breast pocket, placing the fag between his lips and lighting it with a soft snap of his fingers. He held the open case out to her in invitation, frowning as she shook her head in refusal. He snapped the case shut rudely and replaced it to its pocket before expelling a breath.

Ginny felt the sting of his words but knew he was probably just intending to hurt her. He had heard all of her confessions, if he truly wanted to wound her he had better ammunition. She decided to aim for pleasantry at an easier approach. "I was sorry to hear about your mother. I brought flowers, but..."

"I got them," he quipped to cut her off, expelling a smoke-filled exhale.

She felt frustrated by his attitude, but knew she deserved the treatment. "I am sorry about the way we—"

"—Don't," he murmured, pulling the cigarette from his lips with his right hand, rubbing between his eyes briefly with the thumb of the same hand.

"Why are you even here?" She asked softly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I am considering donating to the campaign. Something about that Potter chap just sweeps me up in wallet-opening nostalgia," he sardonically spoke, bringing his eyes to meet hers.

"He's here to annoy me," Harry interjected, drawing attention at the top of the steps. He descended slowly, pausing to slide off his cloak when he reached the others.

With care, and a sharp glance of warning, Harry slung the garment over his wife's shoulders. "They're just about to bring out dessert," he spoke to her, resting his arm around her waist in gentle possession. Something about Draco observing the display made Ginny's stomach twist.

"Enough," she gently warned her husband, wanting to diffuse the situation quickly. Harry had been kind-hearted about the affair thusfar but Draco could never resist getting the last word in. She knew it was best to let herself be lead. Harry guided her up the steps, but as she crossed the threshold of the hall she heard her lover's voice resonate inside her head.

"_I would gladly step aside if I knew you were happy,_" Draco's words sent a chill up her spine but she kept walking, lulled by the clear message and the sensation she hadn't felt since girlhood. "_This world has begun to strip me of everything and the only thing I mind is that I am facing a life alone. Without you._"

Ginny tried her best to conceal what was going on, looking around at all the faces of her family and friends, feeling further from them than ever. She could see Draco had reentered the hall and his eyes were on nothing but her as she settled into her seat.

"_I need someone to be kind to me but you need someone to be truthful. For my part I never was quite as honest as I should have been._"

"_What you are doing may feel right, like you are making everyone happy, but betraying yourself can never be the right choice. Anyone with eyes can see how miserable you are_," Draco spoke, and Ginny shut her eyes tight as he pulled forth memories of their time together from the deep corners of her mind. She couldn't block him out—her Occlumency skills were incredibly rusty and she had no real will to fight him.

"_This is who you truly are. This being,_" he spoke, pulling her memories of their midnight flights together, of making love in his bedroom at the Manor, of sharing meals and the morning paper at the Savoy. He pulled apart memories from her Harpies games, DA meetings, moments from before they knew one another. "_This is the woman I love._"

Ginny felt tears form behind her shut eyelids and she used all her will to push one question into their shared consciousness: "_Why are you being so cruel?_"

She immediately felt the images recede from her mind and his voice went quiet. She opened her eyes and found him in the crowd again. She could feel sweat had formed on her brow but she didn't break concentration to wipe it away.

"_I was invited, tonight_," Draco's voice whispered.

"_Do not be a coward, I beg of you,_" he called to her once more, as she watched him turn towards the exit and disappear.

.

.

Ginny sat at the foot of her bed waiting for her husband to return. Draco's presence and his words had shaken her for the rest of the evening. While Harry had lingered to glad-hand donors, she headed home first to gather her thoughts. '_Do not be a coward,'_ he'd said, and the haunting explanation of his presence echoed in her mind: '_I was invited_.'

The door to 12 Grimmauld Place shut with a firm click and a lock and Ginny felt ice start to pump in her veins. Harry's shoes climbed the stairs, uneven footsteps making the old house creak. He pushed open the door to the bedroom with a huge grin, "That went quite well, don't you think?" he bellowed, cheeks rosy with alcohol, eyes alight with ego.

"You invited him," she spoke clearly, standing to face her husband. "You are the one that invited Draco tonight."

Harry's movements slowed and he turned, tugging his tucked shirt from his pants before clumsily working on the buttons. He didn't respond. His silence was answer enough.

"I thought he went there to torture me... but it was you," she accused him softly.

Harry's eyes raised to meet hers and she felt anger course through her body at his nonchalance. "Maybe you deserved a little torture."

"Every day with you is torture enough," she whispered under her breath, regretting the words as soon as they had left her lips.

Her husband's eyes turned mean, and he tugged his shirt from his shoulders. "Like it's such a pleasure having the ice queen in my bed," he murmured, moving to the bathroom and tugging the door shut with a slam.

"I thought it was a kindness that you never brought up the affair, but you were just keeping quiet because you knew how much guiltier it made me," Ginny shouted through the door. "But I'm finished feeling guilty about it, especially if we're going to treat one another this way."

"I never brought up the affair because you never brought up mine, Ginny," Harry shouted back, not opening the door. "We both knew it was never worth throwing anything away for."

She let the words hover for a long minute, wondering how much slack she should cut him for a late night and a few drinks. _Do not be a coward_. The thought had never occurred to her that Harry had been stepping out on her, though it felt obnoxiously obvious once it was proposed. Harry had moments of unparalleled narcissism, covered in jest or joking—always—but she knew better. Details aligned themselves in logic: he had been so understanding when her sex drive disappeared, he had been so supportive of her taking time to 'figure things out'.

His blind eye towards her affair was just an attempt at paying her back for a shared knowledge she had been ignorant of. _He thought I knew._

She moved to her closet and hastily dressed again, buttoning up a pair of jeans as Harry emerged from the bathroom. "Where are you going?" he asked, slow, anger rising in him again. "To Malfoy? To be _fucked_ by a fucking _Death Eater_ again?"

"The war is _over_, Harry! The war has been over for twenty years," Ginny found her volume rising. "It's not an excuse for your behavior anymore. I can't even stand to look at you right now."

"Where will you stay?" Harry's voice softened, anger leaving him with every passing moment. "With _him_?"

"No. I doubt I will," Ginny crossed her arms defensively. "I'll probably be with my family, until we sort out the next step. I'll come back tomorrow to pack, if that's okay."

Harry nodded and cleared his throat in a sudden shyness, "I'll make myself scarce."

Ginny took a deep breath and nodded, struggling to find the proper words to conclude the night, to conclude her marriage. "I never intended for this, Harry. I do hope you know that," she finally spoke.

Harry minutely shrugged his shoulders. "It happened, Gin. That's all that matters."

.

.

Ginny had intended to go straight to Luna and Rolf's. She'd knock on the door, explain in vague terms, and occupy their guest room for the night. She'd sort out things in the morning. But somehow her feet and a hunch carried her to iThe Daily Prophet/i headquarters instead.

The office was dark, long deserted, as Ginny lit the overhead lamps with a whispered incantation. The desks, scattered with papers and clippings came into view, rising out of the pitch black as if they were coming to life. This place had been her sanctuary. It had been always been hard work, but she was proud of her rise in institution. The people who occupied these desks and offices were a reliable family to her, genuinely caring for the person she was and respectful of the home life that defined her. The thought that she might have been betrayed by _The Prophet_ was one she did not want to leap to without foundation.

She dropped her keys on her desk, shucking her coat and hanging it on the back of her chair in habit. She looked around the room and decided her first stop should be to the Society editor's office. The witch who ran the small department—Edna Sinclaire—was a terrible gossip, and fond of the gray areas of journalism. On more than one occasion she had been known to dispatch private investigators to help fuel her 'news scoops'. Ginny tried a few simple unlocking charms for the door, frowning as the knob refused to turn. The more rational side of her psyche begged her irrational head to see the light. _This is absolutely mad behavior._ Her irrational side refused to listen.

Ginny, prepared for the level of security, transfigured the door itself to gelatin. She reached her hand through the door, turning the manual lock and withdrawing her hand before transfiguring the door back. It swung open with no trouble.

She was careful not to dislodge too many items in her search. If the evidence she was looking for was here, it would be cataloged and readily reachable. Ginny opened all locked drawers and filing cabinets, searching under 'H' for Harry, 'P' for Potter, 'G' for her own name, and finally 'B' for Boy Who Lived.

Turning up empty, Ginny rearranged the office and locked the door on her way out.

She ran her eyes over the desks in the bullpen trying to discern who was next likely, raking over the chairs and nameplates of people she considered friends. With sanity taking over slowly, she returned to her desk and donned her jacket again, picking up her keys and slipping them into her pocket.

_Go home. You don't even know this exists. Snooping around everyone's belongings is a sure way to get fired._

She glanced over the offices on her way out, unable to help pausing in front of Felix's. She had grown to trust her editor, but standing in front of his office door she felt drawn to give his things a once-over before putting the matter to sleep.

Ginny tried the knob and found the door unlocked, her pulse racing as she invited herself into the office and began a search. His filing cabinets again proved empty, but in the bottom drawer of his desk under a bottle of fine scotch and a few lewd magazines, Ginny found a sealed envelope with the word "Potter" scrawled across it.

She settled into his chair and gingerly pulled the envelope out of the drawer. She flipped it over, untying the twine in haste. Mentally, she chastised herself for the pain she was about to inflict on herself. _I have to know._

She reached a hand into the envelope and pulled out a stack of glossy photographs. Dates were marked in the corners of the photos in red wax crayon; going as far back as three years prior. She laid out the photographs—eleven in total—on Felix's desk in chronological order. She was staring down at a catalog of Harry J. Potter's briefly moving trysts.

The women looked different, but it was hard to be sure they weren't the same witch. The photographs had clear focus on Harry: his scar, his glasses, his eyes unmistakable for anyone else. The settings were different, and the actions of the subjects were varied: sometimes he was kissing her, sometimes they were in the throw of something more intimate, but Harry's grin was omnipresent.

.

.

At any moment, it was about to rain. Ginny could feel the moisture in the air, August in London. Harry pressed her up against the window frame of the Whitehall pub they'd just left, his breath hot with beer and desire. They couldn't keep their hands off one another. Two months married, and still honeymooning they'd only come out that night to prove to their school friends they were still alive. The night had involved plenty of teasing and a too-public discussion of newlywed activities but it had been a good time. Ginny pulled Harry's hands from around her, steering her face away from his kisses. "Let's just go home," she begged him.

Harry grinned but shook his head, his strength easily overpowering hers as he pulled her close again, and up against the window pane. Ginny twisted her neck and could see Seamus and Dean pouting their lips childishly as they laughed and watched from inside.

"Harry, enough," Ginny shoved him away firmly, righting her dress and running her fingers through her hair in embarrassment.

"What is _anyone_ going to do, Ginny? I saved the whole wizarding world! I can have a snog in the street with my wife if I like," Harry grinned, approaching her again, his hands gripping her hips and pulling them flush against his, "I can do whatever I want."

Ginny grabbed his wrists and Disapparated them without warning, landing them in the small living room of 12 Grimmauld Place. She shoved him to sit on the couch and tossed him a knit blanket. "Good night," she spat at him.

She stomped her way up the staircase and shut their bedroom door with a slam. It was the first fight they'd had as a married couple.

.

.

Ginny reached for the envelope again, hoping for a note or sign of who had sent the photos, but there seemed to be no other trace. She flipped over each one in succession, finding them blank to some frustration. As she looked over her husband's face once more, she felt bile rise in her esophagus with haste. She barely had time to grab Felix's rubbish bin before her stomach emptied.

When she had finished being sick, Ginny cleaned the bin and herself, carefully returning the photographs to the envelope and resealing it.

The envelope sat on the desk, the object of her heartbreak and her freedom. She thought for a moment she might cause the thing to burst into flames with her preoccupation. She was tempted to sit in the office until dawn and confront Felix when he arrived, but she was not in the mood for yet another argument.

Ginny wasn't sure where she could go now, at this late hour of night, but she resisted who she wanted to see the most. After making sure the envelope was un-miss-able—square in the center of Felix Skeeter's desk—Ginny Disapparated.

.

.

Draco settled himself on the edge of his bed, tugging shoes from his feet and letting them clamor to the floor loudly. He wasn't proud of his behavior that night—muscling his way into Ginny's mind was not something he ever intended to do—but he felt he had to get through to her somehow. If ever there was anyone worth taking a risk for, it was probably Ginny Weasley.

He rose, shedding his robes on the floor, kicking them away before settling into his bed stripped and alone. The rest of the room was a mess, a reflection of his mental state, but his mother's diary sat tidy and treasured at his bedside.

.

.

Ginny settled on the roof of her childhood bedroom as she watched the sun rise over Ottery St. Catchpole. She had not intended to stay up until dawn, but the Burrow roof was more inviting than her bed in the early hours. No doubt the news of her dissolving marriage would be a shock to her family in the morning, and her parents deserved their full night's rest. Ginny craved the moment of peace.

It was almost eerily quiet, the frost of the fields warming to dew in the spring sun. The Otter River, slicing across the countryside and flowing with a gentle, even current. The starlings had woken; tiny black birds taking short flights across the plain only to land and peck at the fertile ground near the river. This world had once been her dominion; it was comforting to once again be amongst the familiar.

In the calm dawning light, the severity of her situation hit her with overwhelming force. Tears began to form and flow freely and Ginny found herself sobbing briefly as the stress of the night imploded within her. After a few minutes of catharsis, she felt much more spent but also much more at peace. For the first time in nearly two decades, Ginny Weasley felt a kind of weightlessness.

She was free.


	8. Part VIII

In the morning, Draco felt much better than he had in weeks. The sun slipping through his curtains didn't make him feel suicidal, and the mess of his room was revolting instead of apathy-inspiring.

He shuffled from bed and aimed a few spells at piles of clothing on his way to the bathroom. One scalding hot shower, one straight razor shave, and one considered moment dressing later and Draco was much more the picture of himself. He descended the stairs and immediately set about his morning routine. Espresso, the paper, toast.

He had a long day ahead of him, playing catch up from all the time missed. It was easy enough to run the shops from home but the Falcons needed extra care. Their first few games had not gone well.

Draco moved quickly to his study to retrieve his mail, thumbing through the letters in the hopes of seeing her handwriting, but he wasn't totally disappointed to see she hadn't written. _Give her time_.

He folded the post into his newspaper and Disapparated to Diagon Alley to begin his day.

.

.

Ginny could hear her parents whispering outside her door. For all the secrets they had kept during the wars, they were awful gossips.

She had tried her hardest to be clear and restrained when she had told them the news that morning. She and Harry had had a fight, it was likely they were splitting up. Arthur pressed for more details, but Ginny plead exhaustion and excused herself upstairs. She had faded in and out of sleep for the better parts of the morning and afternoon. By the time she woke, the sun was near setting and the house had a distinct murmur that told her she wasn't the only Weasley child back home.

Reluctantly, she came downstairs to see the situation wasn't as bad as she thought. George and Bill were in the living room with her father, Angelina and her mother were preparing some sort of tea service while Fleur set the table.

She cleared her throat gently at the bottom of the stairs and drew the attention of everyone in the small house.

"Ginny, dear, take a seat. Tea will be ready in just a minute," Molly called to her with an exaggerated smile.

Bill cheerfully headed into the kitchen, giving her shoulder a squeeze as she sat down in her usual seat. "Hi-ya squirt," he greeted her and Ginny gave a soft smile of hello.

Even though this whole event was, at best, false cheerfulness and, at worst, likely an attempt to convince her to patch up her marriage, it was kind of nice to be the guest of honor at the table.

"I suppose you couldn't drum up Ron and Hermione then," Ginny spoke with a somewhat indignant tone, blushing as her mother's smile seemed to falter. Percy and Audrey could hardly be expected to be there, busy with the campaign, and Charlie only really came down from Romania for Christmas.

"Mum, it's fine. I'm sorry. It's nice to see everyone, really," Ginny quickly patched over, thanking Fleur as she began pouring tea, the rest of the family settling in at the table. Ginny dropped two sugar cubes into her tea, stirring the cup as she felt eyes falling on her and quickly pulling away. It seemed the plan had ended at 'get everyone over for tea.'

"I'm not going to be a story teller if that's what you're all waiting for, but I will answer your questions," she finally offered. "I'm not going to ignore the elephant in the room."

"Gosh, Gin, who said we were here to talk about you?" George teased, but the laughter of the room broke the tension just enough. She was grateful for the laugh.

Ginny felt her father reach for her hand and squeeze it briefly. "No matter how this ends up. You are always welcome here," Arthur told her kindly. "We are all just worried at the suddenness of it all, sweetheart."

If Ginny had the energy to cry she probably would have. She just nodded, feeling warm and loved. "Thanks, Dad. I know... I know it's going to be strange for all of you. Harry has been a member of our family since long before he was an actual member of our family. It's not like I expect you to abandon him or cut of ties because we're splitting up. I don't want that at all."

"Percy will be glad to hear it," George offered with a grin, taking a cheeky sip of his tea, earning him an elbow to the stomach from his wife. "Oh come on, half of his campaign strategy is to cart out Harry at every single event, have them shake hands and pledge to protect the world."

Ginny sighed gently, "Harry will love that, I'm sure." The heads of her family members swiveled back to her and she blushed as an uncomfortable silence followed. She looked up to her mother and frowned at Molly's hopeful look. Breaking Molly's heart was the last thing she wanted to do.

"We fell out of love with one another, is all. I'd been unhappy for a long while now, but I couldn't leave him while he hadn't done anything wrong. He's _Harry Potter._ He's the father of my children. He's 'The Boy Who Lived,'" Ginny smiled sadly. "He's still very dear to me. But last night I found out he has been unhappy too and I think it's time we stopped lying about it. To ourselves, and to each other."

"So it's done then?" Arthur sliced his hand through the air horizontally. "You can't patch this up?"

Ginny fiddled with the handle of her teacup considering the question. "I don't think I really want to, Dad. Not if things won't really change. I tried my hardest to put some effort back into the marriage but Harry would have to make the same effort. It just feels like neither of us is willing to do that."

Molly's worried look only intensified; it stabbed at Ginny's heart. Never before had a Weasley marriage ended like this, and with Harry in the family Molly had gotten used to the pride of treating him as her own. Ginny could tell her mother was torn.

"I appreciate everyone's concern but I really do think this is for the best. Harry and I can now try and be happy apart without hurting one another," Ginny insisted. She tucked her hair back, sighing as she unwillingly thought of the photographs last night.

"Was he cheating on you, Gin?" Bill finally asked, as if he could read her mind, all trace of humor gone from his face.

"Hold your tongue, Bill," Molly shushed her eldest. As much as Ginny didn't want to embarrass her mother or Harry, she realized if was going to start being more herself she could start with being honest.

"The truth of is was we were both having affairs," Ginny admitted with what she hoped was a casual shrug.

"Sacre merde," Fleur whispered under her breath and Ginny resisted a strong urge to roll her eyes.

"Is it really all that shocking?" she inquired with a frown. "We've been drifting apart for so long. It's been obvious, hasn't it?"

"I thought I was the only one who had cheated until last night. Knowing he was unhappy too—unhappy enough to cheat—gave me the permission I needed," Ginny looked up to her mother again carefully, her eyes stalling on the lion brooch pinned to her mother's homely sweater. She hadn't taken it off since Christmas. Molly's eyes were sad, but sympathetic, as she pushed a plate of teacakes towards her daughter.

"I made lemon," Molly offered softly. "Your favorite."

.

.

Ginny and Harry stood side-by-side on the train platform. For the first time in a long time, Ginny felt like everything might be okay in the end.

She was still staying with her parents, but it was only temporary. They had agreed to terms of separation, aiming for an official divorce by the end of the summer: Harry would keep the house, and anything else he had inherited. The rest of their belongings would be split, and the children would be shared evenly. When the pain of the first few fights had simmered, Harry had finally stopped justifying actions and insisting on more chances. They still ended conversations with 'I love you', but gone was the romantic sentiment that had been attached so many years ago.

They had written to the children together explaining the situation, but Ginny was nervous about their reactions in person. The children, sidelined in most of the events of the past few months, were the most important thing to protect now.

As the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, Ginny searched the windows for recognizable faces, caught off guard by Teddy Lupin as he approached the two of them from behind. He embraced them both, one arm around each neck. "You know, it's an awful shame you two are splitting up," he teased, a broad grin masking a voice portraying his true sadness.

"Come on now, Ted, it's not that big of a deal," Harry turned on his most fatherly tone. "We still love you very much."

"Oh it is a huge deal, Uncle Harry. You can't cook for shit, and with Aunt Ginny gone I'm afraid this summer you'll starve," Teddy joked, clapping Harry on the back but giving a wide smile. "I'll help the little one with her case," he offered, taking long strides down the platform towards the emptying train.

Ginny found herself in a better mood already, Teddy was always good-natured and his smile was infectious. She was grateful to have him around as a big brother to her children. She glanced over to Harry and was happy to see him smiling as well. "We can make this work, right?" she asked him, nervously.

Harry turned to her and nodded gently. Ever since they'd split, they'd been tender with one another, trying to return to a brother and sister dynamic. Despite everything, she still trusted his words as gospel. "If anyone can, we can," he offered hopefully.

"Mum!" Ginny turned in time to see Lily bounding towards her, weaving through the crowd, running into her with a fierce hug. James and Albus followed behind her a few paces with luggage carts, Teddy behind them with all of Lily's things piled together. Her sons looked less cheerful but she embraced them and kissed them hello just the same.

"You look happy," Albus said softly against her middle and Ginny ran her hand through his hair. She kissed his forehead and wiped the lipstick print before letting him go.

"Well let's get moving, Grandmum has the _hugest_ welcome-home feast planned for you and all of your cousins," Ginny excitedly explained, smiling as Lily took her hand and threaded their fingers. The little redhead lead her mother towards the platform exit. Ginny looked up to see Draco and his son. The two of them were quite a pair, a matching set of brooding blonds in all black.

Draco raised his hand in a respectful greeting. Ginny raised hers in return before stepping through the transverse.

.

.

Ginny grabbed a heavy metal bucket, sliding a straw sun hat on her head. She had volunteered to tend to the garden, finding her parents quite appreciative of the help she was providing around the house. An afternoon of de-gnoming and weeding was in her future but the day was nice so she didn't much mind.

"Make sure you collect the berries, dear. They'll be overripe and unusable in a few a few days," Molly called to her from somewhere unseen in the house.

"Right, Mum, I got it!" Ginny pushed out the door, heading into the garden. She turned around the house and paused at the sight of Hermione Weasley settled upon the flat stone boulder in the middle of the yard. She was in full robes, which meant she had been at work, probably out on her lunch break. Ginny was curious why her sister-in-law would take the time to travel all the way to the Burrow but didn't want to know all the same.

Ginny set down her bucket near the wild berry bushes at the side of the house. "Afternoon, Hermione," she greeted the woman, feeling only slightly regretful for messing with Hermione's memories at Christmas. Hermione was a formidable witch; Ginny hoped she wasn't there for some sort of retribution.

"How have you been, Ginny?" Hermione asked, squinting in the summer sun.

Ginny shrugged in response. "Not too bad. Would you like a cup of tea?"

Hermione shook her head, "I won't be staying. I just wanted to offer an apology."

Ginny frowned, looking over at Hermione under the brim of her hat. She did seem concerned, guilty even. "I'm sure you don't have anything to apologize for," Ginny blushed, wanting to broach her own confession but knowing it was best kept in her own mind.

"There was one afternoon, just after Ron and I had gotten married. You were over to help me unpack while Ron and Harry were at Auror training. You told me you weren't in love with Harry anymore, and I ignored you," Hermione spoke softly.

"It's eaten at me so these past few weeks I just had to tell you how sorry I am." The brunette took a deep sigh as she tried to gauge Ginny's reaction.

Ginny felt her stomach tie itself up, the knots traveling up and through her throat. She couldn't swallow, could barely breath. "Hermione," she spoke softy, sympathetic for the other woman.

"If I had wanted to leave, I would have." Ginny felt a frown take over her features, "I think at any point if I had been unhappy enough to not go on, I would have left him. Have no doubts about that. But we both know what a good man he is, and I don't blame you at all for any of this."

"Of course you don't," Hermione murmured with a light scowl. "That doesn't mean I don't blame myself." She stood upright then, her robes skimming the grass of the garden, a sadness about her face.

"To think you could have found Draco so many years ago—" she paused and guiltily blushed before explaining, "—Harry told us."

"Of course he did," Ginny frowned, wondering if Ron was out there somewhere with a wand to Malfoy's neck. "Look, Draco and I are over for the moment no matter what my marital status is. I need to stand on my own for a little bit. I don't want to think of my life being any different than the way it is. It would be wrong to think I would want my children any different than they are."

Hermione solemnly nodded, "Of course. I didn't..." she trailed off.

"Did Harry tell you about his…?"

Hermione nodded slowly. "Ron said he had a hunch which made me want to strangle him for not telling you. I told him if he ever had a similar inkling, no matter how old I was—even if I was dead—I would find a way kill him."

Ginny smiled softly at her imagining of Ron's face when he heard those words. He surely swallowed thickly, apologized, and changed the subject quickly.

"I do hope you know that you're welcome at our place anytime. I don't want you to think Harry gets to hold us hostage for his own." Hermione blushed crimson, knowing full well that it worked just like that, even if it was unintentional. "You're both our family."

"Harry and I have been working things out rather well, I think," Ginny admitted. "For the family, for the kids. It's just going to take some time before he and I can sit at a dinner together. For example."

Hermione nodded, sensing the sensitivity of the subject, squinting in the sun. "I should be getting back to the Ministry," she excused herself, starting to walk her way out of the garden. "It's good to see you though, Ginny. You look well."

Ginny bashfully gave a soft wave. "Do pop in and say hi to Mum before you go. I'm sure she's got something to give you. She's been baking non-stop since I arrived."

Hermione smiled and nodded her agreement and faded from view around the house. Ginny picked up her bucket and headed to the berry bushes, beginning to pick when Hermione called to her again.

"Just one more thing, Ginny... but I have to ask," Hermione had returned to the garden gate, a wicker basket in her hands stuffed with Molly's baking.

Ginny turned, tipping her hat back to see her sister-in-law, giving her attention.

"What is Draco Malfoy like in bed?"

Ginny broke out in a grin, unable to help laughing as Hermione cracked up the same.

"I'm just kidding, of course. And please don't tell me." Hermione grinned, changing her mind, "I have a feeling I'll have to meet him with a straight face sometime soon."

.

.

Ginny took a deep breath as she steeled herself to enter the office. She needed her press pass, and that was all. Just her press pass and she'd be on her way. It was near daily deadline, and the sound of twenty typewriters thudded in uneven cadence. She crossed to her desk quickly, unlocking her drawer and withdrawing the pass, slipping the card and lanyard around her neck, locking the drawer.

"Potter," Felix Skeeter beckoned from his office doorway and Ginny froze, reluctantly accepting the invitation. _This close_.

She crossed the floor to the Lifestyles Editor's office and shut the door behind her as she settled in across the desk from her boss.

"Tea, coffee?" Felix offered.

She shook her head silently in refusal. "I've got a match to cover in a little bit," she explained.

"Right, of course. Wanderers versus Falcons," Felix nodded, obviously nervous. "Well, I just wanted to... apologize."

Ginny felt her cheeks flush, but she stayed quiet.

"It was you who..." He gestured to the envelope now resting on the corner of his desk.

Ginny nodded, but still stayed silent.

"I hope you understand that I really thought it was best. We got the photos a few months ago. AZ wanted to run them," Ginny frowned. AZ, Alexander Zolleis, was the Editor-in-Chief of the paper and a man as dogged as he was ruthless. "He wanted to put it out front page. I begged him not to. Pleaded, really."

Ginny took a deep breath before speaking, "I'm surprised that worked, to be honest."

"Well, it didn't at first. Then I told him the shareholders wouldn't like the most respected name in wizarding journalism reducing itself to tabloid status," Felix rested his elbows on his desk, leaning forward in his seat. "Coming from a Skeeter, I think it made some impression."

Ginny nodded, but found herself fumbling for words to say. She wanted to thank Felix and reprimand him at the same time. She wanted him to make the matter go away instead of pressing on her mind every time she thought of the newspaper.

"I was going to wait until Monday, but I suppose now is as good a time as any," Ginny finally found her nerve, her gaze raising to his level. "I'd like to officially tender my resignation."

"Bloody hell, Ginny, please don't," Felix protested over the end of her words, concern etched in his face.

"I don't want to work here anymore," she said plainly. "I don't enjoy it as much as I used to. The hours, the matches, it's just another part of my life that I'm bored with."

It was Felix's turn to be silent, the slight man leaning back in his chair as he evaluated her statement.

"Of course the fact that I can't trust you is part of that decision," she finally spoke, swallowing hard after voicing the words. "I don't mean to punish you, or the paper. I'm grateful for the way you handled the situation, I suppose. I'm sure it wasn't an easy decision. But someone could have told me. I can weather a lot of things, but I can't weather my friends making me out to be a fool."

"Harry and I are splitting up. It's been a long time coming but I don't think I can forgive the fact that I spent three years longer than I had to in that hopeless situation, and that falls on your head, Felix."

Ginny watched her boss shift uncomfortably. "I wish you would stay," he finally offered, his eyes wide with sympathy. _Strange_, she thought. _How everyone wants to offer their sympathy now that I'm on my way to recovery._

"I really can't," Ginny stood. "I'll work through to the end of the season, of course, but this season will be my last."

Felix stood then, and leaned across his desk, extending his hand for a professional shake. The mutual respect of their time together had given her a bit of herself to hold onto when everything else melted away. Her time at _The Daily Prophet_ had kept her sane through the rearing of her children; it had kept her going when it was tempting to give up and hide away.

Ginny grasped his hand firmly, giving it a gentle shake before letting her fingers slide from his. "I have the match to attend."

"Of course. Give my regards to Mister Malfoy, will you?" Felix casually requested, pulling back to stand again.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ginny felt her cheeks flame up at the mention of Draco.

"Potter, how did you think his notes kept ending up on your desk?" he smirked gently. "Honestly, I thought you were one of the brighter ones out there."

.

.

Ginny walked the stadium halls on her way to the press box. She had made sure not to seem dressed up or nervous—_Just regular me_—but inside she had massive butterflies at the prospect of seeing him that night.

The chatter of the stadium was loud. The game was sure to be intense, both teams known for brutality but fighting their way out of early season losses. As Ginny descended the steps into the press box she greeted her fellow correspondents with familiarity, settling in to her reserved chair.

She was impressed at the fan turnout, the Falmouth stadium at near full capacity in a sea of black and red.

"Missus Potter?" An usher gently called for her attention. When she turned, the young man went crimson. "It's an honor, ma'am," he said nervously with a slight bow. "Mister Malfoy would like to extend an invitation to watch the game in the owner's box."

"Why does she get an invitation? What about us? What's she got that we don't?" a portly WWN reporter about her father's age posed jokingly.

"Those legs, for a start," one of the other men cracked, and the booth broke into laughter. Ginny blushed but stood and gathered her things, accepting the invitation.

"Now now, boys. Don't be too jealous. I'm sure the view is cloudy up there," she insisted. "And the company will be far worse."

"Damn straight," the WWN reporter agreed with a chuckle.

Ginny let the usher lead her back through the concrete maze of the stadium, nodding at him in thanks as he gestured to an open door. She took a quick deep breath for courage but crossed the threshold confidently. The box was empty, just two small rows of seats with a bar table in front and a catered spread at the back wall. Except for the slightly different view and lack of inhabitants, it was identical to the press box.

She found a seat with a decent angle and set up her workspace again—her pad and quills at the ready, her Omnioculars out of their case. She wrote a few starting notes to fill her boredom, scribbling down the approximate size of the crowd, and the fervor, before the teams even began a warm-up flight. After a few more minutes of solitude, she moved to the back of the box and fixed herself a drink, picking at the food too nervous to really eat, returning to her seat and checking her watch.

_This is ridiculous. I'm not watching the match alone, _she thought. She rose and began packing up her things.

"I'm sorry we're late," Draco apologized from the doorway and when Ginny turned she saw a pair of blonds where she expected one. "Scorpius this is Ginny Potter," Draco ushered his son into the box. "Ginny, this is my son Scorpius."

The boy was about James' age, they were probably in the same year at school. Ginny couldn't help wondering if they were rivals like their fathers, though she recognized more similarities than differences in their dispositions. She felt her cheeks flush and she walked to the back of the box, shaking Scorpius' hand firmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Scorpius."

"You too, Missus Potter," Scorpius spoke softly, quickly withdrawing his hand. "Game's about to start," he remarked to his father from under a coiffed muss of platinum fringe.

Draco nodded. "Go grab a seat," he excused his son from the circle and the teenager bolted to the front of the box, taking a seat at the edge of the box.

"Is this... okay?" Draco asked Ginny nervously once they were alone. "He really wanted to come to the game, and we don't have much time together with the custody as it is."

Ginny nodded but gave him a reassuring smile. "I think it's kind of wonderful," she spoke softly. "I assume he doesn't know about us?"

"Of course not," Draco knit his eyebrows together as he shook his head subtly. "I told him we were friends."

"Rude of you to lie to your son like that," Ginny teased with a grin, and a brief wink before she returned to her seat. She watched the Wigtown Wanderers fly their starting line around the stadium to cheers and jeers, their players showing off their flying skills.

"You used to play professionally, didn't you Missus Potter?" Scorpius asked, watching the display through Omnioculars.

"I did. Almost five years with the Holyhead Harpies," Ginny leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs.

"What was your signature move?" He asked, curiously, drawing his gaze to her.

Ginny blushed at the attention but was grateful Scorpius wouldn't be sulking the entire game. "I used to fly out upside-down," she smiled as she remembered it. "I was a bit of a show-off then."

"She was brilliant," Draco spoke, settling into the seat just behind Scorpius'. "The broom tucked under her knees, arms extended. Like a trapeze artist."

Ginny went bright red as Draco talked about her flying. He had never mentioned ever seeing her play. "Well, thank you," she blushed. "I do like to think I was something special."

"Why'd you quit?" Scorpius asked, returning his focus to the stadium as the home team began their introductions.

"I retired to have children. I was pregnant with James, my son James," Ginny answered.

"I know James, he's a mate," Scorpius mentioned casually, never taking his gaze off of the players.

Draco raised an eyebrow but shrugged at Ginny's matching expression, laughing silently at their shared surprise.

The game began shortly after that, Ginny focusing on her dictations and play by play coverage, occasionally glancing into her Omnioculars for clarification or to watch something over again. The conversation was light, but enjoyable. Scorpius was polite, extremely interested in Quidditch, and inquisitive; his father stayed quiet for most of the game, but pride was streaming out Draco's ears that the two of them were getting along.

As the score grew higher, Ginny glanced at her watch. If the snitch was caught before eleven o'clock, she had time to finish a write-up and get it in the morning edition. If the match went any later, she'd have to write a quick mid-game review. Normally Ginny would be praying for a caught snitch by now, but as the game intensified and the conversation kept rolling, she didn't mind the prospect of staying out all night with the Malfoy men.

Draco noticed she was checking her watch often and was reminded of their trysts. She was always concerned about getting back to her real life, keeping their time together in neat appointment slots. "Doesn't Harry mind you staying out so late?"

Ginny frowned in confusion. Without thinking, she responded. "Why would he mind? We haven't been living together for weeks."

Draco felt his heart race as he processed the information and he waited for her gaze to meet his. Reluctantly, her amber eyes met his silver as she realized the admission with a cute grimace. There were more tactful ways to share the news. Draco just smiled, at her expression and the news without a trace of irony or smugness.

"Divorce?" He asked breathlessly.

"By the end of the summer," Ginny couldn't help a small smile at Draco's expression, eye-rolling playfully. "You don't have to look so gleeful."

Ginny's watch beeped and she looked out to the game. Clouds were rolling into the stadium and the players were clearly having trouble in the low visibility. She was in for a long night. She stood and grabbed her notebook, "I have to owl the paper with a mid-game report, from the press box," she blushed at Draco's continued smile and slapped him on the back of the head with her notebook playfully as she headed for the door, finding her way to the press box to finish her business.

When she returned a few minutes later, Draco was alone in the box standing at the far end, looking out onto the game.

"Please tell me my news didn't make you sacrifice your first born in tribute to the gods," she teased, slowly walking to the front of the box, to join him.

"I kindly suggested he watch from a higher level, because of the cloud cover," Draco smirked.

"Right, yes. The cloud cover," Ginny seriously agreed in playfulness with a nod, keeping a straight face as she glanced back to the game.

"I'm glad you left him," Draco spoke softly. "I can't help that, Ginny."

"Well he didn't give me much choice," Ginny sighed, her smile fading. "He was sleeping around too. For longer, not that that matters."

"Fucking prick," Draco disbelievingly murmured under his breath.

"Draco," she warned him softly. "It doesn't matter," she sighed as she looked out over the pitch.

"It's not like you ever threatened his mistress, right?" Draco flashed his eyes to her.

Ginny turned to face him with a frown. "When?"

He shrugged before answering. "A few months ago. I don't remember the day. Walked right into my shop, threatened to ruin my business if I ever contacted you again."

Ginny blushed, anger rising within her, but not surprise. "That's why he was so angry at Percy's dinner," she groaned as she put the pieces together. Draco gave a gentle nod.

"It's not like I was afraid of him," Draco defended his pride. "I wanted to respect your distance. You had chosen to end things."

Ginny gnawed on her lower lip as she thought over his words carefully. "If... and I'm not saying I want to, just _if_ I wanted to _un-_end things," she spoke, keeping her eyes on the cloud cover as players raced through. "Would that be all right with you?"

She could feel Draco's smile on her. "If that were the case, that would be all right with me," he spoke softly, watching her watch the game.

"And if, again _if_ I wanted to wait until my divorce was settled before I asked to _un-_end things... would that also be all right?" Ginny found the tone of her voice dropping as she spoke, turning to face him, not shying from his intense gaze.

Draco nodded his reply. "As long as we can still be friends. For Scorpius. For appearances."

"Yes, of course. For appearances," Ginny grinned, her eyes flashing from his to his lips unconsciously. "By the way, your Beaters need cross-training. Archery, I'd suggest."

"Unsolicited advice," he huffed, turning back to the game. "My team is just fine."

"They're half of what they could be, and you know it. You need a new defensive coach," she defended her opinion with a trace of flush. "And it just so happens that I've quit my job this afternoon, so I'm available for next season."

Draco let his mind mull over her proposition; the nerve of her always did impress him. "And you think I should just hire you? The Harpies never won anything of circumstance while you played."

"First of all, that was not my fault. My offensive figures were well above league-average. Second, I've had over a decade to observe the game since," Ginny smirked, the crowd erupting in cheers as the announcer shouted over and over that the Wanderers' seeker had caught the snitch. "You need me, Malfoy."

.

.

Ginny pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. She wanted to get up, but didn't want to leave him alone in the bed.

Astoria's wedding the day prior had gone much better than she had expected. Though Draco had asked her to accompany him as friends, they had tumbled into something more again somewhere mid-reception. Meeting Draco's ex-wife had gone well, Ginny rather liked Astoria, and despite the setting Draco seemed to be in high spirits. They had spent most of the night snuggled up against one another in the corner of the posh hall mocking the groom's extended family.

Draco remarked how happy his former wife looked, swaddled and twirling in the arms of another. It was undeniable that the woman sparkled.

Ginny had wanted to wait until the divorce was finalized before sleeping with him, but Draco's magnetism was impossible to resist. The champagne, the twinkling candles, the romance of the evening had gone to her head in the most delightful way. Draco had been between her thighs by midnight.

She watched him sleep, her enigmatic lover. As if he felt her eyes on him, he woke, peering out from under long blond lashes. "Morning," he drawled, shutting his eyes while he took his first conscious breath of the day. His lungs expanded, pressing his chest up, making her rise with the gentle force of the expansion.

"Good morning," she replied, gently sitting up next to him. "I figured I might cook the Malfoy men some breakfast."

Draco smiled and gave a gentle rumble of a chuckle. "If it's after seven, Scorpius has already made ius/i breakfast," he explained. "Potions. Cooking. Same skill set, and he excels. Eggs Florentine to die for," he murmured sleepily, giving a soft yawn, a reminder that they hadn't actually rested much the night before.

Ginny gently sat up, covering herself with the covers modestly. "Then I'll get dressed and we can go eat. You'll need energy."

Draco raised an eyebrow into a perfect playful arch, but said nothing.

"Last night you were complaining about your backlog of repairs. I fully intend to beat you through the stack," Ginny taunted him, sliding from the bed to look for her slip amongst the discarded clothes on the floor of the room. She slid the green silk over her head, letting it fall loosely along her body. Draco had sat up, admiring the view of his dressing companion.

She remembered the days she would sneak into the hotel bathroom first thing after sex, to fix her hair and make-up and appear perfect for him. She was certain she looked a wreck but the way he looked at her had not changed.

He pulled out his wand and murmured an incantation under his breath, the high hem of her silken slip growing until it was at her feet. "You look beautiful in green, but Scorpius is only a teenager. I can't have him getting any funny ideas." She crawled across the bed to kiss him in reward for his jealousy, no matter how passing and light.

"I love you," she whispered for the first time, her nose brushing against his, her eyes shut fearing the emotional ricochet. She had hurt him beyond what should be forgiven, and yet he had held his flame for her. He—the world's most impatient man—had shown patience, and when the timing was just right he had recaptured her.

She could imagine her future moving forward without him but found herself more than pleasantly surprised to hope that wasn't her fate.

"I adore you, Ginny Weasley," he murmured in response, stroking over her cheek. "But you're an idiot if you think I'm letting you take charge on the restoration of the backlog. Hands off," he warned her. "Dervish, Banges, Borgin & Burkes property. Thieves will be hexed upon sight."

Ginny grinned at his casual bite, pulling back to take him in. His smile was clear in his voice, but he wore a Malfoy smirk, which was fine by her: he was handsome just the same. "I'm a faster draw," she reminded him, pressing one more chaste kiss to his lips.

"I make no promises to spare you," Draco watched her rise, slide on his dressing robe and steal a playful glance at him before she left the room, leaving the door ajar.

"I welcome the challenge," she called after him from the staircase.

He spent another long moment in bed, letting the sun wash over him from the open windows. He pulled on his pajamas and his spare robe, sliding his feet into slippers before shuffling down the stairs, pausing in his study as he heard Ginny and his son discuss proper Julienne technique. He greeted Rigel and slid a treat between the cage bars, leafing through his mail finding no interest in the post whatsoever.

As he crossed back across the foyer he paused at the tall mirror towering beside the staircase, ready for transfer back to its proper home. It had taken Draco the better part of his adulthood to find the pieces and elevate the object back to its former glory. It was a contribution he was happy to give back to the school that he felt saved his life.

Draco peeled back the velvet curtain across the glass, stepping back properly to peer into it once more.

He saw nothing but his own reflection.

Ginny joined him in the foyer, a cup of tea in her hands. He let drop the curtain, the velvet swinging back over the ancient glass as he turned his attention to her.

"I think it's awfully rude of you to be sending it back broken, by the way," Ginny murmured, offering him the teacup.

"Broken?" He scowled, accepting the tea. "The frame is brand new." He looked over the frame quickly with concern, scanning for cracks or warps in the freshly carved wood.

Ginny moved to stand behind him, pushing the velvet aside again. "I didn't see anything when I looked into it," she explained casually, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. Draco wasn't sure if she was messing with him but given his own reflection moments ago he wondered if she even truly knew what her words meant.

"Come," she murmured in invitation, pink lips parting for the sparse word as she nodded towards the kitchen. "Breakfast."

He had never heard anything more alluring


End file.
